


Whom Most I Dread and Love

by maq_moon



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Amilyn Holdo: Life Coach, F/M, Great Schism, Leia Organa: Murder Mom, Let's get medieval, Luke Skywalker: collector of orphans, Maz Kanata: international (wo)man of mystery, Rey is a terrible detective, Reylo Fanfiction Anthology, don't worry everyone is alive, medieval manchurian candidate?, rffa finish your fics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-13
Updated: 2019-12-12
Packaged: 2021-01-30 07:56:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 30,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21424819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maq_moon/pseuds/maq_moon
Summary: {A medieval!AU}Europe is in turmoil, and Rey is sent to Paris by her extended family to avoid the worst of the fighting-- and carry out a mission. She must secure a position in the Palace and hunt through the papers of the mysterious Lord Snoke. What does she hope to find? Proof that he was involved in the disappearance of Ben Solo, the man she was to marry.
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 46
Kudos: 75
Collections: Finish Your Fics: NaNoWriMo 2019





	1. A Mission

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Here I am, offering you _more_ history. This time it's at the encouragement of [ the Reylo Fanfiction Anthology](https://reylofanfictionanthology.tumblr.com). Their Finish Your Fics challenge is just that: a challenge. This story was one of the first Reylo fics I ever began. I abandoned it for a lot of reasons. Now, we're finishing this monster. 
> 
> The title comes from "The Franklin's Tale" of Chaucer's The Canterbury Tales. 
> 
> Here's a brief overview of what you need to know in terms of history that isn't explained right away:  
France and England were still fighting the Hundred Years' War.  
There was a ~pirate problem in certain parts of Italy. The North African Berbers were notorious for kidnapping in their piracy.  
"Moor" meant anyone with dark skin, essentially. Scholars argue over its specific usage, but that's what it boils down to. 
> 
> Apologies in advance for how dialogue-heavy this chapter is. They're not all like this ^^

Rey drew long lines in the sand, then crossed them. She counted the number of squares she had made, corrected herself, and set to work. She sat stones, sticks, and seashells onto her makeshift board. Her companion eyed her dubiously, but she paid him no mind. She was doing this for him, and he would have fun whether he wanted to or not. The summer sun beat down on her face and neck, she could taste the salt in the heavy air, and she was teaching her brother her favorite game. It was a beautiful day all around.

"I'm feeling generous today," Rey said, unlacing and removing her boots. "So you may move first."

"How am I supposed to know what rock is what piece?" Finn asked flatly.

"By where it is on the board! Honestly!"

"And after I've moved one or two?"

"I like to think that I scavenged a fine assortment of beach debris," she huffed. "Look, my pebbles-- the pawns-- are even a different shade than yours. Sort of."

"You did an admirable job, but I don't see why we can't just play on a real chess board."

"Because it won't always be this warm. Papa says this winter will be harsh. I want as much sunshine as I can get before it's too late."

"How does he know it'll be rough?" Finn asked earnestly.

"I'm not exactly sure," Rey admitted. "But he's never been wrong. You'll see, the more time you spend around him."

"I hope he doesn't want me to call him Papa." Finn's brow creased. He absently picked a shell from the makeshift chess board and played with it. "He gave me a home and a Christian name, but he's not my father. I'm a bastard boy and fine with that."

"If you say so,  _ Phineas _ ," Rey said, tone light. "He brought you to me when the Barbary pirates would have killed you and he made you my brother. If you are my brother and I am his daughter, he is your father. But what is logic in the face of masculine pride?"

Finn sighed and lay on the sand, closing his eyes. "You don't understand,  _ Aurelia _ . The corsairs-- I had a family, I'm certain of it, but the corsairs killed them. My father is dead. You, on the other hand..."

"Had a devoted family?" she finished. Finn made a small noise of assent. "You assume much, brother. Do you think I bear any resemblance to Papa?"

"You mean he's not--"

"I mean that just because he found me on his doorstep, he is no less my father."

"Do you know who your real--"

"Luke Skywalker is not my sire, but he is my father," Rey said sharply. "He can be yours, too, if you let him."

Finn snorted, accepting that he would not win this argument with her. She was too stubborn to give in, even with something as petty as what to call the man who had rescued him from the Barbary pirates. "Well, he'll have to come home before I can decide what to call him."

She waved a hand in the air. "All of this Cardinal business is too much for him. I tell you, if he were elected Pope, he would hate the idea, take the job, hate the job, and be thankful for it. I admire his devotion, though I certainly don't envy it."

"Your religion is very complex."

"It's yours now, too, Finn." She froze him with her gaze. "Don't forget that. It may well keep you alive."

"Are all European ladies as authoritative as you?" Finn asked, a smile twitching on his lips.

Rey scoffed. "If only. My bare feet are practically sinful. And if we weren't in Genoa-- if we were somewhere like England-- I'd probably have to have my head covered constantly." She brought a hand to her hair, tied in three vertical knots on her head. "And I wouldn't be allowed to twist it, either. The English are so stuffy. I'll keep Italy, thank you."

"Shouldn't you put your hose and shoes on, then, if it's sinful? Your father is a Cardinal."

"I said it's practically sinful. I'm your sister and it's hot outside. Now put that seashell back and let me teach you chess. That was a Rook, by the way."

"And how does that one move again?" Finn asked, brow furrowed.

Rey's eyes widened suddenly and she scrambled for her modest leather shoes. "Doesn't matter; you can't move it yet and we're about to have company."

A courier approached swiftly from the direction of Falcon House. His breath came heavily and he was sweating profusely beneath the August sun. "M'lady," he said, panting, upon reaching Rey and Finn. He gave a small acknowledgement of her station, then jumped. "M'lady, where is your chaperone?!"

"I need none," Rey said evenly. "This is my brother."

The courier looked at Rey, then Finn, back to Rey, then Finn again. "But m'lady," he whispered, "that man is  _ Moorish _ ." 

"He is dark, the sky is blue, water is wet, and I tell you,  _ courier _ , that he is my brother. What news?"

Unconvinced but put in his place, the courier handed Rey a sealed letter. "From the Cardinal. I was told to deliver it with the utmost urgency."

"I thank you. Please, share some milk with the farm hands. It won't do to have you collapse."

"M'lady is generous," the courier said gratefully. 

Rey didn't bother with the niceties of farewells. She tore open the letter and read it greedily, desperate for word from her beloved Papa. She read aloud:

_ My dear daughter, _

_ It pains me to be away from you and our family for such a long period. I do hope that Phineas is learning the ways of Christ and that you are helping to further his education in this and more profane matters. I would very much like to return and find that he has been taught to read and write a little. It is also my hope that he has come to view you, your aunt, and your uncle as his own. _

_ To the matter at hand, my Rey. I am certain you have heard that some in Rome are unsatisfied with Pope Urban. It is said that he can be violent, though one cannot be sure if this is accurate. I believe the true discontent comes from his reformist nature, for he was much beloved prior to becoming Peter's Successor. There have been whispers, disconcerting and blasphemous. I confess myself afraid. A group of Cardinals recently left for Avignon. I fear Genoa will be caught in a skirmish between the Italians and the French. I know that your instincts will tell you to hate the Italians because of Benjamin. I warn you not to hate them, nor the French, no matter what comes. Christ tells us to love our neighbors and our enemies. I pray I am wrong about any conflict, but if I am correct, I highly doubt France and the Italian states will align. Do as Christ teaches and forego hatred. Be kind.  _

_ I have sent a similar, though naturally more detailed, letter to your aunt and uncle. I am sure they will have arrangements for your safety made should trouble arise. Have no fear, for God is with you. _

_ Yours in Christ, _

_ Papa _

Rey frowned. She wasn't stupid, but she didn't understand. Some Cardinals went to Avignon. What was wrong with that? The Papacy had been there until recently. And no Pope had ever been universally loved, ordained by God though he was. Why would a progressive Pope, even a possibly violent one, make Genoa a dangerous place? Plus, she already hated certain Italians. Nothing short of literal Divine Intervention would change that.

"Who is Benjamin?" Finn asked, yanking her from her attempted analysis.

"He's-- he was my cousin. I don't know how much Italian history you know, being a pirate and all--" Finn shook his head, signifying that he knew none. "Genoa and Venice have been at war for over a hundred years. Not constantly, but a series of wars. We have a lot of allies this time around-- Austria, Padua, Hungary, and Aquileia. Venice's only ally is Milan. Before the fighting actually started, Ben set off for Rome. A pilgrimage of sorts, I guess. He thought that, as a lord's son, he would be treated diplomatically on the way. He was wrong." She paused, looking at the chessboard she had drawn in the sand. "We got a letter saying he had been killed by Venetians. They didn't send back anything, not even his sword. That's the hardest part for Uncle Han and Aunt Leia, I think. They want something to consecrate and put in a graveyard."

"And you?"

"Me? I barely knew Ben. He was ten years my senior. He was learning how to be a lord since before Mama and Papa found me. We didn't interact much, but we were to marry when I came of age. I’d be his wife by now. Aunt Leia did some silverpoint drawings of him throughout his life. He was handsome, I think. Quiet. Intelligent. He's the one who taught me chess, but that was ages ago. We didn’t interact much." Suddenly, she kicked her makeshift chess board, scattering her pebbles and shells. "Venetians are brutes. I don't know how Papa expects me to not hate them."

Sensing that a change in subject was due, Finn said, "How can Luke be a Cardinal if he had a wife? Or did I misinterpret the rules?"

"Widowers may become priests. Mama died very shortly after I was taken in and legitimized. Papa didn't take the Orders right away; I think I was three. He ascended unusually quickly. That he is a Cardinal after only 17 years speaks to the strength of his faith."

Finn only hummed his assent.

"I suppose I ought to speak with our aunt and uncle," Rey said, shaking sand off of her kirtle. 

"I guess," Finn shrugged, "but I don't really know what you hope to accomplish. Your father told you everything he wants you to know."

"Yes, but I can get more out of Uncle Han. Beneath that tough exterior, he's a big softie. And if my smile doesn't work, I'll bluff. He taught me well."

They walked slowly towards the pale blue walls of Falcon House. Finn left her at the stables, not quite comfortable yet amongst the tapestries and finery Han and Leia's home offered.

=====

Despite the sweltering summer heat, the temperature in Han's cabinet was cool. Rey shivered, running her hands up and down her arms. Her aunt and uncle were an unusual pair. Leia floated through Falcon House in soft ermine and billowy pallada, hair coiled about her ears and citrus on her lips. A large ring decorated her thumb, silver with a brilliant blue stone. It was a man’s ring, an heirloom intended for Luke, but his humility forbade him from wearing it. Han stomped about in a knee-length tunic two decades out of fashion and a rough green over-kirtle atop it, which he never laced. Rey found his lack of effort somehow endearing.

"So, kid," Han said, "you got a letter."

"Much the same as yours, if Papa speaks truly," Rey replied, lips quirking into a smile. 

"Is that right?" Han asked archly. "What did it say?"

"He spoke of the Pope, of Avignon, of the coming conflict and plans for my safety." Just a little stretch, she thought; it wasn't quite a lie.

"You're awfully calm about everything."

"Serenity isn't the virtue with which I struggle, Uncle. That would be patience."

"You always were very brave," Leia said, smiling. "But I don't think your Papa told you everything. You'd be a lot more frightened if he had. What did he tell you about the Pope?"

Rey cocked her head. She could fool Han, but never Leia. "He said that people are speaking blasphemies. That, even though they loved him not long ago, the Cardinals are saying malicious things that may or may not be true. He said that many are unhappy with their choice and have left Rome for Avignon."

"And have you put two and two together?"

"Apparently not, since I'm not frightened." Han laughed at this.

"A new Pope will be elected in Avignon," Leia said gently but firmly, holding Rey's eyes with her own.

"Is Pope Urban ill?"

"No, kid." Han sighed. "The Cardinals hate Pope Urban so much that they're voting in a new Pope."

Rey blinked and tried to process the information. "So there will be... two Popes."

"Yes," Leia confirmed.

"Are you sure?" Rey asked incredulously.

"Luke is, and that's good enough for me," Leia said. "So we need to discuss what's going to happen. I won't have the issues surrounding Rome take another child from me."

"Wait-- Are you siding with the new guy?"

"Absolutely not!" Leia declared. "These people have no business going around and holding a secret election when we already have a Holy See. But Genoa, as I'm sure your father pointed out, is smack in the middle of the Italian States and France. We are Italian, but France has been influencing us gradually over the past few years. This is one of the least safe places to be, especially with the Venetians going at it again." She got a far-off look in her eyes, the look she always wore when she thought of Ben.

Han coughed. "We're sending you away."

"What? No! This is my home! I've never been away before!" Rey protested.

"We tell her the Church is about to split and she's fine. Give her a holiday and she freaks out. Definitely meant to be a Skywalker."

"There's more to it than hiding, Rey," Leia said. "We need you to do something. Something important."

Though there were tears in her eyes and her hands were balled so tightly that she could feel her fingernails drawing blood, she spoke. "Where am I going and what am I doing?"

"Paris, Rey. Haven't you always wanted to go to Paris? As for what you'll be doing... It's not nice, I'm afraid. We need you to get into the palace, near King Charles. Or, more correctly, near the man who whispers in King Charles's ear, a man called Snoke."

"Snoke?" Rey asked. "Who's he?"

"He," Han said, putting a hand on Leia's shoulder, "may have had something to do with Ben's death."

Rey gasped. "I thought it was Venetians."

"We were meant to think that, dear." Leia sighed and shook her head sadly. "The letter we received regarding Ben's-- telling us that Ben had... it wasn't written in Italian. It was written in very formal French, signed by this  _ Snoke _ , and delivered to us from the west."

"So you want to know what he knows about Ben." Han and Leia nodded. "Why didn't you tell me the truth about the letter?"

"Sometimes a simple explanation is easier than the truth. The Venetians and Genoans already hated each other, and I didn't want to dwell on the idea that the French had a high-level conspiracy. I also didn't want to give that fear and paranoia to you, especially if it was unfounded."

"Oh. I suppose I ought to thank you," Rey said quietly, averting her eyes.

"But you won't." Leia smiled. "You wish that we had trusted you with the truth. You're angry. You believe we kept it from you because we thought you incapable of comprehending it, not out of compassion."

Rey blinked several times and felt her jaw slacken. "Yes. How did you know that?"

"Because I know  _ you _ , Niece. While you are like my brother in some ways, you are also very much like me, and that is how I would feel." Han nodded enthusiastically in agreement; Rey bit the inside of her jaw to keep from laughing. "To business."

Han took an uncharacteristically noble stance as he spoke. "We are sending you to Paris under less than ideal circumstances. You can't use your real surname, kid. Being a lady will limit what you can do and where you can go. The Skywalker name won't make you any friends if King Charles decides to support the second Pope."

"Who am I to be if not myself?" Rey asked.

"A maid, young but married. You’ll be safer with a veil on your head," Leia said. "I have a friend in Paris who can get you a position in Snoke's apartments."

"A maid?"

"Servants know  _ everything _ ," Han replied. "They can't read or write, but they can tell you exactly when their lord last took a sh--"

"They know who comes and goes, who gets letters and from whom, those sorts of things," Leia interrupted. She glared at an unrepentant Han. "Since you speak both Italian and French, you are perfect for this. You can read the missives Snoke leaves in his cabinet; he will assume you can't read at all. We'll have to teach you poor manners, but you've never liked those rules anyway. And, most importantly, this gets you out of Genoa." 

"But into enemy territory if Papa is right," Rey said. "If there's a war between the Italian States and the French, I'll be behind enemy lines. And they're already fighting the English."

"Kid, if there's a second Pope, it won't just be France and the Italians, or France and the English. The whole world will be in chaos. Better to be away from the middle." Han exhaled, shaking his head. "Besides, you don't think I'd let you ride off to meet Charles by yourself, do you?" 

"Sir Dameron will be going with you," Leia said. "He will protect you on the road. Once you get to Paris, you will meet with the Connix family. They will get you into position. As soon as you have information about Ben, you are to leave Snoke's apartments. You will stay with the Connix family until Sir Dameron thinks it safe enough for you to return home to us. Do you understand why it has to be you? Why we can't trust anyone else? I wish we could just hide you away and let that be it, but..."

"I understand," Rey said, biting her lip and nodding. "And really, if I have to go away, I'd rather be doing something productive than sitting around playing dice with strangers."

"'Productive'. That's one way to look at it." Han smirked. "I'd say 'dangerous', but hell, whatever gets you motivated."

"Han, don't scare her!" Leia chastised.

"This girl has never known an ounce of fear in her life. She's tougher than every squire I've ever met, and half the knights." 

"You flatter me," Rey said, blushing.

"I wasn't trying to. Now go pack everything you've ever wanted to wear but haven't been allowed to because it's not fancy enough."

"I'll look over your clothes before you go, dear. I'll also see if I can't get a few hand-me-downs from some of the servants who are about your size." Leia stopped speaking when she saw how wide-eyed Rey had become. "Oh, you think you're leaving immediately! No, Rey. Day after tomorrow. Spend some time with Finn. Go swimming. Curl your hair. Do all of the things the snobs in Paris might not want you to."

=====

Contrary to what Uncle Han had said, Rey was very frightened.

She would be going far from home without her family. She would be going to the court of King Charles of France. She would be going to the man who was keeping secrets about dear Ben's death. She would be doing all of it alone.

Oh, Sir Dameron was the finest knight Rey knew of. She didn't doubt that she would get to Paris safely. If Aunt Leia said she could trust the Connixes, she would trust them. But what would she do when she was alone in the apartments of Snoke? She would have no allies there. She wasn't sure that she could keep up a pretense of being raised poor; her mannerisms would surely give her away. And should she get caught-- then what? Her papa's name wouldn't be able to save her because he had no intention of voting for a new Pope. Her aunt and uncle's name wouldn't be able to save her because they would stay with the true Pope as well. Would they imprison her? Kill her? 

Her fingers shook as she put on a faded red kirtle. She had purposefully weathered the seams of some of her clothes; the more of her own she took, the fewer the servants would have to give up. She owned nothing very ostentatious to begin with, being a Cardinal's adopted daughter, but some of her things were simply too bright, too dark, too new, or made of the wrong type of fabrics. Her squirrel fur was to be left behind as well, the one thing she had argued for. Her trunk, new to her but used, held several cheap veils and two pairs of uncomfortable shoes.

Her farewells had been wet. Finn's dark face was lined with the tracks of fat tears, and he made no effort to control his shaking sobs. He called her "sister" and Rey's heart broke. Leia's crying was more dignified, a handkerchief catching her tears quickly. She twisted her silver and sapphire ring anxiously. The typically stoic and sarcastic Han even had misty eyes. He embraced Rey, whispering, "You don't have to do this. You can just hide."

"I do. We need to know," Rey replied softly, running her fingers through her uncle's graying hair.

“Trust Connix. There aren’t many others you can count on in that city. Never trust a man who claims to be honest, because he’s lying. You can always trust a liar to lie. Scoundrels will sell you out for scraps unless they think you’re one of them, and that’s only because they’re afraid you’ll sell them out. Be a scoundrel, Rey, but be discreet about it. You’ll find an ally for certain.” 

And suddenly she was riding alongside Sir Dameron, chatting amiably, hiding her fear and sadness. 


	2. A Journey

"You can call me Poe if you like, my lady."

"I hardly think that's appropriate," Rey said, sniffing.

"Appropriate? My lady, the closer we get to Paris, the less of a lady you must become. I will be forced to treat you inappropriately. It's only fair." The knight gave a roguish wink.

"Even though I shall pretend to be a maid, you shall still be a knight, Sir."

"Aye, but a knight in plainclothes, keeping a maid safe. Should you continue to call me  _ Sir Dameron _ , people will look at us oddly."

"You make a fair point," Rey conceded. "I can't just call you 'Poe', though, Sir. Not while you have your armor and shield and are openly protecting me."

"A compromise, then. Sir Poe," he suggested. "That way you will be used to saying my name by the time we near the city."

"Agreed."

“I’ll also give you a few pointers on rudeness. Impropriety will be important from now on.”

Rey sighed. “As you say, Sir Poe.”

=====

If Rey had thought the long journey to Paris would be boring, her fears were doused within the first hour. Poe Dameron was a charming companion. Originally from Castile, Poe filled the daylight hours with stories of his family, the war for Galicia, and lessons in Spanish. Rey thought that, having studied Latin, she would pick up the language quickly. Instead, when Poe spoke to her in Spanish, she replied in Latin and confused both of them. They stayed at inns overnight, the fare unappetizing and the mattresses uncomfortable. Poe warned her that things would likely be worse as a servant. This puzzled Rey; she and her papa lived modestly. Uncle Han had even joked that Papa made her live like a serf. It was one of the reasons she loved staying at Falcon House. But mattresses thinner than those in the public houses? Rey thought Poe must be joking.

For Poe did have a sunny temperament and cheerful disposition. He had never been cross with her, even when he was overly tired and cranky. He did his best to amuse her and tell her funny stories. Then, one night, as an autumnal breeze blew, everything changed.

Poe was in plainclothes. His hose were loose, his tunic short, and his scuffed shoes nowhere near pointy. He looked absolutely destitute. As he and Rey tucked in to some cold stew, the creaky door of the tavern at which they were bunking flew open. A disheveled man in gray robes burst in, speaking quickly and almost unintelligibly.

"Brother," Rey said, recognizing his garb, "what is it?"

"My God! They've done it!"

Rey tried to engage him once more, but Poe grabbed her upper arm roughly. "Don't speak. Don't do anything to set yourself apart. React exactly as the rest of the crowd reacts," he growled into her ear. 

Tavern patrons shouted questions at the monk until the barkeep silenced them with a threat to cut off the flow of mead.

"They actually did it. The Cardinals- they elected a new Pope! In Avignon!"

The noise was a swelling crescendo of confusion, anger, and fear.

_ Is Urban dead? _

_ About damn time! _

_ Who do they think they are? _

_ God help us all!  _

_ This means war! _

_ It's the End Times! _

Rey opened her mouth to assuage fears, but Poe, sensing her intentions, silenced her with a glare and pulled her to her room.

"You rest. I'm going to find out what's really happened," he said.

"But I-"

"My lady, I must insist. Good night." And he shut the door in her face.

She knew he expected her to go to sleep, but she simply couldn't, not when Papa's prediction had been correct. She needed to know what was happening. She also knew that, as kind as Sir Dameron was to her, they were far from home and she was completely dependent upon him. Though he was hers to command, she was at his mercy. The rational part of her mind told her that this was for the best at present, that she was but a young woman and wouldn't know what to do if a riot started. The rest of her mind told her that she was an intelligent individual with a personal interest in this matter, so she should go and hear what the people were saying, consequences be damned. Sighing, she put her ear to the door and tried to make sense of the garbled words from the common room. 

She could understand nothing.

When Poe came for her in the early morning, it was clear that neither had slept.

"Tell me," Rey commanded.

Poe sighed, raking a hand through his dark hair. He said something in Spanish (Rey imagined it was a curse) and began. "There is another Pope, as your family feared. He has taken the name Clement. This happened a few days ago at Avignon. As you would expect, France is tearing itself apart. God, the  _ world _ is about to tear itself apart." He laughed, a dry and mirthless thing. "King Charles is no longer living in the Royal Palace, though this is apparently not new. He built a hôtel and moved there earlier this year because he, ah, hated the smell of Parisians. Probably thought it would ward off any new plague. The Connixes should still be able to get you to Snoke, my lady. There is a more immediate problem."

"More immediate than securing my safety on the other side of Europe with an antipope in place and war a distinct possibility?" Rey snorted. "Pray tell, Sir."

He stared at her earnestly. "I would not jest about my lady's safety." Rey flushed and looked at her feet. "On the outskirts of Paris, there are blackguards-- fallen knights. They are men of great skill and terrible fury. They attack any who are loyal to Pope Urban. They stop travelers and asks them questions about their faith before letting them proceed into the city, believing that none would lie and blaspheme." Poe stared intently into Rey's eyes. "We must lie to get into the city."

"No!" Rey exclaimed. "I can't! I won't! Papa would sooner die--"

"You are not your papa, and your papa wishes you safe. Paris has many churches; we may repent once inside. God  _ will _ forgive us. Our intentions are pure." Seeing that Rey was still wavering, he continued. "I will do all of the talking. Surely they have enough honor to not frighten a lady-- a woman when a man is so willing to engage."

"If they have so little honor as to kill the truly devout, I doubt they would hold to any propriety. But I will trust you, Sir. You have performed more than admirably thusfar."

"No more calling me 'Sir'," Poe said, attempting a weak smile. "We are too close to Paris and I look like I come from the furthest fields of Castile."

=====

The blackguard found them at dusk a day before they were to reach the city. His armor shone the color of the night sky, save the seams on his bevor, which looked like rich lines of blood seeping from the steel.

"Stop."

Rey's heart turned to ice and beat like a rabbit's all at once. She knew she was shaking, so she fisted her hands in her kirtle to hide her fear. There was a stench in the air, something vile and putrid. She could only liken it to rotten meat that had been in the sun too long. Glancing about nervously, she saw a leather boot in the brush on the side of the road. Above the boot was an ankle, swollen. She saw other things, flashes of color that could only be clothes, and had to turn away when her eyes found a hand, fingers bloodied and curled.  _ Bodies. Victims. _

"Who are you to stop us?" Poe asked cautiously.

"I am a protector of France. What is your business here, Spaniard?" the fallen knight asked, catching Poe's accent.

"I am no Spaniard, but my mother was," Poe lied easily. "We only hope to see the Notre Dame. We have travelled weeks to see her."

"A pilgrimage? How quaint. What do you know of Christ that I should allow you to continue your journey?"

"Ask anything of me, and I shall do my best to answer. I do not claim, however, to know all of the Lord's mysteries. I am no holy man, and even they are not privy to God's divine plans."

"Have you access to a Bible?"

"No, naturally."

"Do you read?"

Poe squinted at him. "Do you joke? Of course not."

"Speak Latin?"

"No."

"Then how do you know anything of Christ?"

"Church."

"Latin is the language of the Church."

"When one comes from a small town, one has a good relationship with their priest. And a man does not need to know the meaning of the words spoken to be filled with the Spirit."

"True enough," the blackguard said. "You speak to your priest often. What does he think of the Pope?"

Poe snorted. "Which one?"

"That is the question. Who is  _ your _ Pope?"

"Why, Clement," Poe said without hesitation.

"You speak so swiftly. How do I know you have not prepared an answer? Tell me  _ why _ your Pope is Clement." 

Poe blinked in astonishment; he had not anticipated this question. "Well, the Cardinals elected him. And that's how it's done. The Cardinals vote and God ordains."

"Such a profane answer. What does your woman think?" He walked to Rey, who still quivered. "Don't be afraid. Why is Clement Pope?"

She thought back to Papa's letter. "He... he had fits of temper, didn't he?" she managed to squeak. "Urban, I mean. Christ teaches us to love and be peaceful. God would want a peaceful representative."

"You speak with more wisdom than your husband," the blackguard said. "And with the voice of someone from Genoa. Am I correct?" Rey nodded. "How very strange that a Genoan and a half-Spaniard should end up wed."

"That's life," Poe said with a shrug.

"I wasn't talking to you," the blackguard snapped, voice ringing in his helm.

"I was a lady's maid's daughter," Rey said, telling the prepared story in a rush. "He is a soldier. M-militia, passing through. I was given leave to wed when he asked. I didn't have much in the way of a dowry and he couldn't afford a ring, but I have new shoes, and we have a little house, Sir-"

The blackguard laughed and leaned forward, resting an arm on her horse's neck. He whispered, voice echoing, "I am no 'Sir', no more than you are a peasant. You are quite obviously a lady, despite your efforts to hide it. I'll let you and your husband pass, though you could clearly have done much better than a Spaniard, my lady.

"Go now," he said to the pair of them, "before I change my mind."

They didn't look back.

=====

"What did he whisper to you?" Poe asked over a bowl of thin broth.

"I'm apparently a poor actress. He knew I was a lady." 

"You got us past him. I didn't know why they had wanted a new pope."

Rey shrugged. "It was in Papa's letter. He also said I deserved a better husband than you." Poe pulled a face, making her giggle. "Oh, and he wasn't a knight."

"That explains his interrogation of you; he has no honor." He was silent for a few moments, sipping his broth. "I wonder how he knew where we were from."

"I'm not sure. Maybe he's a  _ learned  _ man who went mad and kills travelers he deems heathens. Doesn't matter. Tomorrow we reach Paris."

Poe nodded silently and Rey knew he thought that it did matter. Did he think there were more people like that monster in Paris? Would there be more stinking masses of flesh left not by age or plague but by the sword of the antipope's champion? Suddenly she thought about going to Confession. Would she be able to fully and truthfully confess her blasphemies, or were the priests in Paris all for Clement? Would they, men of God, turn her over to the blackguard or his ilk?

"Do you know how to use a dagger?" Poe asked.

"You stab," Rey replied.

"That would be a no." He smiled rakishly, trying to lighten her mood despite their surroundings and goings-on. "I'm going to give you one anyway, to keep in your boot. I'll show you how to hold it properly. It will make me feel better knowing you have something to protect yourself. I think I'll also show you how to throw a punch. It might come in handy."

=====

Vicomte William Connix and his daughter Kay welcomed Rey and Poe with open arms. 

"Paris is beautiful, yes?" the Vicomte asked, smiling. "I only wish you were able to enjoy her properly. Instead, you're heading into the viper's nest. Can I not tempt you to simply stay with us? With the upheaval, I'm sure your uncle and aunt would understand. No one wants to put you in any danger."

"You may tempt me, monsieur le vicomte," Rey said, lips twisted in a wry smile, "but I must resist that temptation. I may not have known Ben well, but my family needs closure in order to have peace."

"Such a brave girl you are," Connix replied. "I doubt you've had good food and rest since you left. I'll have Kay show you to a room. We'll find a place for you as well, Sir Dameron."

"My lord is too kind," Poe said.

“Any trouble on the road?”

Poe nodded sharply. “A would-be knight questioned us. Luckily, my lady is cleverer than I. She convinced him to let us pass.”

Both father and daughter gasped. “The blackguards had you?” Connix asked. “We had heard that they kills all who cross them.”

“Not all,” Rey said weakly. “But I’d rather not dwell on the moment, if you please.”

Kay touched Rey's elbow and led her through the decadent halls. "I can't believe what you're doing," Kay said, her voice barely above a whisper. "It's thrilling-- like something they'd put in a story."

"Hopefully not a horror story," Rey amended.

Kay laughed loudly, the noise a strange juxtaposition to her light voice. "I'm sure you'll be fine. Steal a few missives, come back here, then go home." Rey didn't tell Kay that her papa didn't want her to go back to Genoa; she kept her silence and her stomach twisted. "Of course Father will be writing to your uncle tonight, to let him know you're here." They stopped before a shiny oaken door. "Will you be needing anything before supper?"

"No, thank you," Rey said. She turned the handle of the heavy door and hesitated. "Actually, if I may, I'd like to write to my papa."

"Of course. I'll send someone with everything you need. Please make yourself at home."

"Thank you." Rey saw nothing in the room but the bed, large and inviting. Kicking off her shoes, she lay upon it and wondered if she could ever press her body into a straw mattress again.  _ Never _ , she thought.

===== 

_ Dearest Papa, _

_ While I have arrived safely and without any bodily injury, I hold a wound of the deepest sort. I cannot safely confess to any here, so I confess to you, knowing that you will hear my sins justly.  _

_ I have blasphemed, Papa. I spoke of the false Pope as the true one, even knowing that you would sooner perish than do so. If I may be so bold as to give context, allow me. There is an inquisitor who kills those attempting to enter the city if they do not answer certain questions to his satisfaction. Sir D--- and I were warned by a monk. We expected the blackguard to speak only to Sir D---, who had been prepared to blaspheme to keep my conscience clean. The blackguard insisted upon conversing with me and inquired as to why a second Pope was elected. While I carefully refrained from saying completely untruthful words, a lie of omission is still a lie, and I have therefore transgressed. Sir D--- and our hosts try to assuage me by saying that I would have died if I had spoken the truth, but then I am even more sure that I did the wrong thing. I am certain that I have sinned in other ways since I last Confessed, but this is the sin that weighs heaviest on me and I cannot trust it with the Parisian priests. Such times we live in! _

_ My host has secured my position, as promised. I will be moving to the Royal Palace on the morrow. I am terribly frightened, but I know that, with God's guidance, I can do what I must. Additionally, Sir D--- showed me how to use a dagger and taught me how to punch someone in the face. I sincerely hope I will not need these tools, but they are useful nonetheless. _

_ With Love, _

_ your daughter _

===== 

"So you're Jess's replacement?" a tiny woman asked as Rey dragged her trunk to a well-used servant's door of the Royal Palace.

"I am," she replied. "I'm Rey."

"I'm Maz. Don't look so scared; I'll see you taken care of. Oi, boys!" She snapped her fingers and two young men rushed to her side. "Take the trunk while I give her the run-down. Good lads. Now..." Maz looked at her critically, squinting her already small dark eyes. "Has anyone ever told you that you have extremely good posture?" Rey shook her head, confused. "No, I imagine they would only tell you if it were bad. You'll need to slouch a little, dear. Dirt and cheap clothes do not a servant make."

"But--"

"Ah, ah! Maz always knows. You'll need to talk faster, walk faster. Do everything faster, especially eat. If you don’t eat fast, you may not eat at all. Do you actually have any experience cleaning?"

"Yes. Churches, sick houses, poorhouses, those types of things."

"Treat everything in here like it's in a church, because God knows the people who live here have lofty opinions of themselves. I assume you know how to address each and every individual puffed-up old fart that comes through, but pretend you don't. They're all the same to you, except for the king, his sons, and his daughter. Fortunately, the king left earlier this year and took the children with him. Apparently  _ Monsieur le Roi _ finds us odiferous." Maz snorted. "Unfortunately, we still have to scrub up after two particularly nasty characters, General Hux and Lord Snoke. You'll be on rotation for their apartments, but steer clear of the men themselves. Servants should never be seen or heard, but those two have a tendency to pop up like a bubo- unexpectedly and somewhere you really wouldn't like."

Rey laughed in spite of herself. "Anything else I should know?"

"The kitchen staff is touched. Don't listen to their stories."

"What stories?"

Maz smiled. "If I told you, then wouldn't I be undermining my own warning to not listen to them?"

"I suppose," Rey said, "but won't they talk whether or not I ask? Better that I hear from you which of their tales are nonsense."

"You are a sharp one, aren't you?" Maz chuckled. "Tell me, do you believe in ghosts?"

"No," Rey answered automatically.

"Such conviction. What if I told you there was a ghost here, who hides just behind our shiny new clock?"

"I wouldn't believe you."

"You wouldn't go see for yourself?" Maz asked.

"No."

"Hmm. There is no ghost. The castle holds many secrets, but there is no ghost in the clock tower. I told you to slouch. And don't hold up your chin; it's a dead giveaway."

Rey looked at her feet and followed old Maz. She had a lot to learn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here are your Fun Historical Facts!  
Shoes were _a big deal_ around this time. We often hear of a woman's dowry, but men had to bring things to the table as well. In the late 14th century, one of those things was a pair of new leather shoes, preferably pointy (round toes were for the poor).  
Men's clothing was getting pretty risque. Shirts were getting shorter all the time, to the point where they were about where t-shirt hems are now. Remember, though, that men wore hose. Poe's goods were on ~prominent display.  
King Charles actually DID leave the Palais because he thought Parisians were too smelly. The hypothesis is that he did this to avoid plague (sweet-smelling herbs and flowers were thought to ward off plague), as one had just ended a few years prior.
> 
> So the thing about Poe trying to teach Rey Spanish and Rey answering in Latin is what happened to me when I tried to learn Spanish. French, German, and Japanese? Grand! Spanish? "I know what you're trying to say, but you're saying it in the wrong language." What's funny is that I hadn't been in a Latin classroom in like... 3 years when this happened. 
> 
> Please leave a contribution in the little box! I love hearing from everyone <3


	3. An Ally

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may notice that I'm switching between "Benjamin" and "Ben" almost arbitrarily. Pay attention to the pattern. You may find out something interesting!
> 
> I've been trying a once-a-week update thing, but that won't work anymore. This will be completely posted before TROS. Updates will likely be Mon & Thurs or Sun & Thurs.

The cleaning was not difficult. Working on acting poor was a bit tricky. Avoiding the Royal Palais's inhabitants was not difficult. Brushing off the kitchen staff's absurd stories was easy.

Sleeping on a thin straw pallet on the floor was nightmarish. Every night there was a tussle amongst the servants to get closest to the fireplace. Arguments broke out about why so-and-so should be the warmest: they had been working at the Palais longest, they felt a cold coming on, they were the eldest, they had slept far from the fire the night before. The one argument that automatically won a woman the spot nearest the fire was an encounter with Hux or Snoke. There was an unspoken rule about never using this falsely (Maz would surely know anyway) because the encounters were so traumatic.

Rey had been cleaning the Palais for two weeks and had not seen either man. This was irksome. She was insatiably curious about these men who inspired such dread. She wanted to catch a glimpse of General Hux. She wanted to look into the eyes of Lord Snoke and try to see his soul.

More frustrating, Rey was never on rotation to clean Snoke's apartments. Nobody was.

"Who is he, anyway?" Rey asked Maz one cold October morning. "No one ever says his name with a proper title. He's always just ' Lord Snoke'."

Maz shrugged. "Better not to know, perhaps."

"I disagree."

"I knew I liked you." Maz smiled. "He is the voice in the king's ear. He is what the Dukes wish they were. He is a wolf among sheep. He is powerful."

"None of those tell me who he is," Rey said.

"Don't they?"

"No. All I know is his surname. Where is he from, for example?"

"Hell, I imagine."

Rey gasped. "What an awful thing to say!" 

"Meet him and then tell me I'm wrong." Maz patted her arm affectionately. "You're in General Hux's rooms today."

"Hux? Oh, easy day, then." General Hux was a fastidious man who barely needed tidying up after because he himself was so particular in his habits. "Just please tell me he's at the hôtel ."

"Afraid not. He was skulking about the clock tower an hour or so ago. You'll have to be on your best behavior, in case he gets in a snit and comes running to pout while you're fluffing his pillows."

"He doesn't have a reputation for pouting; I've only heard of him screaming," Rey said, giggling.

"Let me tell you a secret," Maz said in sotto. "Men are just little boys grown tall. They shout and throw tantrums like two year olds, and they cry and pout like two year olds. You won't find an exception."

Laughing, Rey remembered the verdant adventures she had at Falcon House. Uncle Han fit the bill. She had seen in him every emotion a human could experience. Papa, however, had a solid serenity. She had seen him happy, yes, and sad, but never so emotive.

"Whomever you're thinking of just hides it well," Maz commented wryly. Rey laughed again.

"I was thinking of my papa. He's so calm all the time. I've only heard him raise his voice a handful of times. He doesn't make a habit of getting angry." She shook her head and smiled.

"Lords are more prone to fits of temper; they can get away with it, after all." Rey looked perplexed, not understanding at all, but nodded. Maz sighed. "I'll explain it some time. Off with you, now. The sooner you start, the sooner you finish."

=====

Rey started with the bed. It was one of the few things that looked the slightest bit unkempt. She folded the corners of the sheets meticulously, flattened the russet goose-down quilt to smother its wrinkles. She adjusted the bed hangings, making sure the curtains were all tied at the same height. She had to stop herself from sinking onto the luxurious mattress, reminding herself that until she found out about Ben she was sleeping on a pallet on the floor and would have to deal with the backaches. 

Moving to the general's cabinet, she dusted and polished, picking up and replacing things with immense care. There were papers and books on his desk; she wondered if she ought to organize these or leave them as they were. There were letters from Bertrand du Guesclin. Rey skimmed them, hungry for anything to read. Naturally, the missives were about the English and their boy king. There was nothing about the new Pope, nothing about Benjamin. She hadn't really expected there to be. 

She could obviously not alphabetize the books, as she wasn't supposed to be able to read. She settled for stacking them neatly in one corner. If only she could borrow one of these books! Just beyond her fingertips was an Alighieri, beautifully bound in blue leather. Rey swallowed her sadness; it wouldn't do to dwell on what she couldn't have. 

She was running her fingertips over a map of Europe when she heard the door close. She jumped, turning to the doorway. Immediately she dropped into a curtsey. This could only be Hux. The red hair caught her eye first, his military regalia second. She kept her eyes low, breathing erratically. He was going to scream at her. He would look at her eyes and know she was here under false pretenses. A silly voice in the back of her mind told her that at least she would be sleeping nearest the fire tonight.

"Don't stop on my account, girl," Hux said dismissively.

"My lord?" Rey asked cautiously.

"You were looking at a rather up-to-date map of Europe. Keep looking, if you like. Educate yourself."

"P-pardon?" Rey stammered.

Hux laughed, a surprisingly warm sound. "Of course, you can't read, can you?" He strode over to her and put his finger over where the word _ Paris _ was elegantly scrawled. "You and I are here. Paris. Here is Castile," he pointed, "and, of course, England." Rey could do nothing but nod. "We're winning, you know. Between du Guesclin and myself, it's only a matter of time. And with a child now on the English throne-- Well, that makes things simpler."

"My lords were doing well when their king was a grown man."

Hux smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Yes, we were. It's kind of you to pretend to know what's happening in the world for the sake of my ego." He looked her up and down. "What's your name?"

"Rey, my lord."

"You are from France, Rey?"

"Genoa, my lord."

"I've never been. How is it in Genoa?"

Rey blinked rapidly. This was the evil, reviled, feared General Hux? "Warm, my lord. The people are kind. If I'm honest, I find France prettier."

Hux chuckled, and this time the mirth did touch his eyes. "How so?"

_ Oh, your Parisian architecture is unlike anything I've ever seen, and the art is astonishing, and the Seine... _ "Genoa doesn't have so many pretty buildings. I quite enjoy watching the river as well, my lord. And you haven't got pirates."

"Pirates? Genoa sounds full of adventure."

"It is unsafe, my lord," Rey said, putting her gaze on his well-polished boots.

"You were sent here," Hux surmised. Rey nodded. "Well, it was a boon for me. You seem to have dusted under rather than around my things and returned them to their original positions."

"I do try, my lord."

"You've done better than anyone they've thrown in here before." A sneer was on his lips, and Rey could picture this face causing upsets. "I shall be requesting you regularly, I think."

"My lord is kind."

"Off with you now, Rey. Your work has been more than sufficient and I have enjoyed our little chat, but I have work to do for King and Country."

"Of course." Rey curtseyed again and let herself out.

How easy it would have been, she thought, to move into an intelligent conversation with him! He was polite enough, and thought he was teaching her about the war between France and England. She grinned when she imagined his look of surprise when she would say, "The whole war was stupid to begin with. How did Isabella think she had any right to claim the throne?" Or, "Frankly, I'd be surprised if peace doesn't come soon. The Black Prince's son has no regent and is torn apart by committees; he's bound to lose most, if not all, of his French territory." But those were things Rey Skywalker of Genoa would say. Rey no-name, replacement of Jess Pava, had the same opinion as whatever man she happened to be talking to because that's how it was done. She scratched at the veil on her head, not for the first time cursing it and missing the way she could freely twist and style her hair by the seashore.

She carried on pretend conversations with General Hux in her mind, now that she knew him to be a reasonable man and not a demon. She had never known a true military strategist, and she had so many questions forming, but she could only imagine what the answers would be. Uncle Han didn't like to talk about his time fighting, even had nightmares about it, so she knew only a little of actual combat maneuvers. She fancied it all like a giant chess board, but with different rules for each side.

Chess. Ben had taught her chess. She wasn't here to learn about anything besides Ben. Chastened, she sighed and walked to the kitchens. 

The serving girls and the cooks were telling their outlandish stories. Rey never paid them much attention, but she liked to hear how they made one another laugh. It was a welcome sound so far from home. Oddly, although she had been at the palace for a fortnight and Maz had warned her of their ghost stories on her first day, no one in the kitchen had ever mentioned a phantom in the clock tower. She had never cared for ghost tales. She had also never thought to find General Hux agreeable. On this strange day, she asked a strange question.

"Why doesn't anyone talk about the specter in the clock tower?" she asked.

All faces turned to her, and everyone hushed. A portly cook said, "There's no specter. That's a living man doing all that screaming." 

Rey furrowed her brow and nodded. She had never gone anywhere near the clock tower and had therefore never heard the screaming. The thought prickling her mind was that Maz had lied. She had expected a tale, but none existed. None existed. _ There is no _ ghost _ in the clock tower _. Maz had said that to her. Why would she go out of her way to draw attention to it if she didn't want Rey to see what was really there?

"A living man?" she asked, collecting herself. "Why would he be kept there, and screaming?"

A dark look passed between some members of the kitchen staff. "It's not really fit for the ears of a young woman," the cook replied.

"It's obvious that all of the others here know about him," Rey reasoned, "and some of you have to be younger than me." 

Two of the kitchen girls nodded at the cook; the older women remained stoic or went about their tasks.

The cook scratched his head. "I'm not really sure where to start."

"The beginning ought to do," Rey said, smiling slightly.

"Right. Well, the clock tower ain't old. Only been here a couple o’ years. But the screams didn't start right away. A man come along with ol’ Snoke one day, lookin’ real sick like. Had some bumps and bruises, cuts. Bloodied up. I wondered why he was being brought here. Why bring a dyin’ man to the palace, yeah? But he was given apartments. Anybody who ever saw his face in there got sacked later, maids and nurses and so on. But people talk. Apparently he was some kind of lord."

"A lord?" Rey asked, unable to help herself. _ Snoke bringing an injured lord to the palace... _

"Aye, with some means. Seems his mother's family was influential. Ties with Rome, and his grandfather had been someone of ‘portance. Father must have had connections, too, else he wouldn't have been a lord. He-- our Mystery Lord-- became friendly with dear General Hux." The kitchen girls shivered at Hux's name. Rey couldn't imagine why. "While he was ill, ol’ Snoke visited him a few times a week. He never stayed as long as Hux, so nobody thought nothin’ of it. Then, one day, our Mystery Lord was gone." The cook paused for dramatic effect. "His chambermaid said that Snoke collected him in the dead of night and led him in the direction of the clock tower. She was sacked that very same day." He folded his arms and nodded, indicating that his story was over.

"And that's all the evidence you have for the Mystery Lord being the man in the clock tower?"

"His voice, too," one of the girls said. "He had the biggest fits. I just sat his tray outside his door for the others to take in, but I can't forget those screams."

"But why does he scream?"

"Beats me," the girl said, shrugging. "But sometimes there's blood in the corridor, and Hux and Snoke aren't exactly known to be nice people."

Rey nodded and excused herself. As a servant, she had very little privacy. She had no room of her own, nowhere to collect her thoughts. There was no one to whom she could speak candidly. She couldn’t write down her ideas to make sense of them; feigned illiteracy was incredibly trying. What she could do was walk. As a lady, she couldn’t wander unaccompanied. A servant, however, had no such rule and drew less attention. Rey picked up a basket used for linens and leisurely strolled unfrequented corridors.

Benjamin, her intended, whom she had hardly known and scarcely remembered, had died two years prior. The letter announcing his death had arrived a week after the criers proclaimed Genoa’s victory with the Byzantine emperor and the security of seafaring trade routes. A week of revels and then-- no more Benjamin. No more joy in Aunt Leia’s eyes. No more swagger in Uncle Han’s step. No more frustrated groans from Papa after philosophical debates she had never been privy to. Two years ago, a man left God’s earth. The letter bearing the news had been written in courtly French and delivered from the west, signed by one Lord Snoke.

A young lord was brought to the palace by Snoke. All those who saw the mysterious lord were dismissed, save General Hux. The lord was heard screaming by multiple servants.

In the recent past, King Charles installed a clock. Someone lurks in the clock tower. There is sometimes blood outside the tower. Servants who heard the screaming lord ages ago say it is his voice. They also believe Snoke and Hux are harming him in some way.

What, Rey wondered, could be deduced from these accounts? There was the commonality of Snoke being vile. If Uncle Han and Aunt Leia were right and Benjamin was a casualty of the French, specifically Snoke, it seemed possible that he would torment other young men from prolific families. She herself had never heard the pained screams of the mystery man and could therefore make no comparison, but the logical thing to do was to pass by the clock tower at night. She could see and hear for herself if these stories were true. And if they were? Well, all the more reason to find information on Snoke.

She carried her basket back to the laundry. The laundress snapped at her for having taken it in the first place, and Rey took the insults in stride. She had heard worse from delirious patients in sick houses. Besides, she was distracted; she had to plan.

She slept closest to the fire that night. Four simple words earned her the spot:_ I met General Hux _. She omitted that she found him perfectly agreeable. Any excuse to get near the fire was a good one on cold October nights. 

======

Maz Kanata was a slight woman. Short, frail, bug-eyed, and possessing minimal wisps of floating gray hair beneath her veil, she painted an odd picture. No one would accuse her of being strong. No one would see her as a threat. She was a little old lady, set in her ways and good at her job.

She had cultivated this image carefully over the years.

Maz had come to Paris almost thirty years earlier at the request of Genoa’s first Doge. She reported faithfully to every successive Doge and had her fingers in a lot of other pies. The house of Valois, the Viscontis, the Sicilians, and Byzantium all thought that she was working for them. In truth, Maz worked for no one but herself. That her goals aligned with those of her homeland was a happy coincidence.

Loyal to no country, Maz Kanata was fiercely loyal to her friends. She had met Han Solo on the coast of the Black Sea. He was a new father taking up arms for his country; she was fighting her own battle. Theirs was an unlikely friendship, but a true one. When the fighting on the coast was done, she went with him to Falcon House and met his family. She played with little Ben, a tall toddler prone to tantrums. She taught Han chess.

She saw the young man Snoke brought to the palace. He looked so like his father. And Maz wrote. She wrote to everyone she knew trying to get information on this Snoke man. She wrote to Han, telling him her suspicions. She hit dead end after dead end, heard Han’s son scream more times than she could count, and could do nothing. If she tried, she would be sent away. So she waited.

Han sent a girl to assist. A smart girl, certainly, but one who could cock everything up with one misstep. Han’s letter to her had been brief. “Trust Rey,” it had read, followed by a crude drawing of a falcon— Han’s calling card. It was enough for Maz. But clearly the young lady needed guidance. 

“There is no ghost in the clock tower,” Maz said quietly to herself. “It’s a little boy grown tall.”

======

Morning sent Rey to General Hux’s apartments again. She tried in vain to shake off the hope that he would find her again. It had been so nice to have someone speak intelligently, almost kindly, to her. The General knew the screaming man in the clock tower, however, and that man was possibly tied to Benjamin. She had to find a diary or correspondence if she could. With information about him, she could leave this place and have plenty of intelligent conversations with Vicomte Connix and his family. She could write and receive letters. But things must be done one step at a time.

She went about her tidying, swapping out linens and carefully polishing knick-knacks with silk cloths. She stepped into his cabinet, closing the door behind her. His desk was pristine. Everything had a place and nothing was out of place. She clutched the polishing silks tightly in her left fist as she gathered her courage. She pulled the single drawer of the desk.

The doorknob rattled.

When Maz entered the room, Rey was facing away from her, dusting books.

“I do hope,” Maz said, “that you haven’t been poking around.”

Rey’s shoulders sagged in relief. “No. Of course not. What would I be looking for?” 

“Do you even know? Did they tell you what to look for or are you stumbling blind, grasping at any straw shaped like him? Hmm?” Maz sighed and pointed to Hux’s desk. “You tried to open it. It’s locked. It will always be locked. Nothing useful in there anyway.”

“How do you know?” Rey asked. It was a question with a hundred meanings and a thousand answers.

“Who do you think jammed the lock?” The old woman arched an eyebrow. “The General is, at his core, both sentimental and prideful. The desk was his father’s. Even broken, he won’t get rid of it. And he won’t let anyone else touch it, not even a carpenter or locksmith. He wants to be the one to repair it, you see. But he is busy and impatient, so the drawer stays locked.”

Maz picked up a rag and started dusting, humming a hymn loudly. 

“Why did you jam the lock?”

“Spite.”

“Oh.” Rey shifted nervously from one foot to the other and back again.

“Do calm down. General Hux hurt someone I care about. Worse, he began by befriending him. I think a stuck drawer is little recompense for what he did to Ben Solo. I’m sure you agree.”

Rey’s knees went weak. “Tell me what you know. Please.”

“Walls have ears, palace walls especially so. I’ve said my piece for now. Come to me when you’ve finished your chores. I got a package this morning that might interest you.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Time: ACTUAL MEDIEVAL REYLO, murder mom!Leia, and Chekov's gun is back in action.
> 
> Your Fun Historical Facts:  
The Hundred Years' War happened because of sexism. Up until the early 14th century, France didn't have any laws against transmitting titles through women. Then 1316 comes along and BAM, outlawed. In 1328, Charles IV died with no brothers or heirs. His sister Isabella was alive and _also_ mother of Edward III of England. Isabella jumped and said, "YO, MY SON IS IN CHARGE OF FRANCE NOW." The French were like, "Girl, two things. We decided in 1316 that titles can't pass through females. More importantly, your kid isn't French. We've decided to go a different direction." The French found a suitable cousin: Philip Valois. Ed III figured he wouldn't get France, but he and Phil VI ended up *hating* each other, so Phil confiscated Ed's landholdings in France and the fuckery began.  
Like there was stuff that happened before (no conflict is in a vacuum or is caused by one event), but this is seen as the *precipitating* event. Sexism. "Let your sisters and daughters have nice things or war happens" is the moral of the story.
> 
> Please leave a contribution in the little box! I really like talking to everybody!


	4. A Reunion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternate title: find all the Dragon Age references
> 
> This chapter was a complete m o n s t e r to write and research. I really hope you enjoy the Reylo reunion ^^

Dark corners can hide many things. Stolen kisses in burning love affairs, hushed conversations made all the more conspicuous by attempting to keep them clandestine, or simple cobwebs forgotten by a maid’s broom. One dark corner of a pantry in the Palais in Paris hid a secret. Behind barrels of grains and beneath shelves of salt was a brick that, if strenuously tugged, could be slid from the wall. Behind it was a grubby little package tied with twine and a letter.

“Han said to trust you,” Maz said, “which is why I’m letting you see my hidey-hole. I have others, but this is what I wanted to show you.”

Trust had never come easily to Rey. Uncle Han had explicitly told her to only trust the Vicomte de Connix. It would take more than a few cryptic statements about Benjamin and her uncle for Rey to have faith in Maz.

“Han?” Rey asked loftily, tugging on her apron anxiously.

A laugh. “You are being coy.”

“I’m being careful.”

“Not unwise, here of all places.” Maz thrust the package at Rey. “Open it, then.”

Rey untied the twine slowly and gently removed the paper wrapping. “It’s a box,” she said flatly. “A plain wooden box.”

“Not just a box,” Maz insisted. “Look here. See this abnormality in the grain? Watch.” The old woman slid her thumb along the side of the wooden box. An almost inaudible  _ click  _ revealed a false bottom. Rey gasped. “Now look inside.”

Peering into the secret compartment, Rey didn’t expect to see much of anything. They were in a pantry with no windows and only one candle between them. But immediately there was a flash of brightness, something silver. Rey reached inside and found Aunt Leia’s ring, the heirloom with the large blue stone.

“How did you get this?” Rey asked, breathless.

“Read the letter.”

_ My dear niece, _

_ I pray this finds you in good health. We of course miss you terribly, but hope your job is going well. Moreso, we hope you are safe. We pray for you often, most especially F—. You’ll be happy to know that he can now write his name. He is very good at doing sums. While he still struggles with vocational training, I know he will understand soon.  _

_ I have sent you a gift knowing that M— will explain its use and history. Believe what she says, niece. The truth is ugly but necessary. I also hope that you will know what to do with it when the time comes. M— should be able to provide you with any missing parts. What I’m asking of you is terrible, I know. Scripture tells us that justice is an eye for an eye; B— has suffered. He deserves justice. God will forgive us. _

_ May the Lord bless and keep you, _

_ Your Aunt _

Rey chewed her lip. “I don’t understand. It’s a ring. The Skywalker ring. What horrible secret could a ring have?”

“Did you ever examine it closely?” Maz asked pointedly.

“No. I mean, it was always on Aunt Leia’s hand. I never saw it up close but once or twice. She showed me the Skywalker crest on one side and the stag and boy on the other. And the stone is a sapphire.”

Maz nodded. “All true. Do you know why there’s a stag on the Skywalker ring?” Rey shook her head. “It’s the iconography of Saint Julian.”

“Saint Julian? I don’t know him.”

“You wouldn’t. Luke likes to keep secrets buried. St. Julian is the patron of travellers, lepers, caregivers, and murderers.” Maz said this quickly and evenly and barely paused when Rey gasped. “You see, St. Julian was warned by a stag that he would kill his parents, so he left home. He married a rich woman and they lived in a grand castle. One day while he was out, his parents came to his castle. His good wife offered to let them sleep in the largest bedroom, because she was a proper hostess. When St. Julian came home, he saw two people in his bed and assumed his wife was committing adultery. He stabbed both people in the bed just as his wife came to tell him that his parents had come for a visit. Now, as you have no doubt guessed by the fact that he’s a Saint, he repented and was absolved. But why, you wonder, is this man on your father’s ring? Yes, I know it was Luke’s before he passed it to Leia.

“Before he was a knight, Anakin Skywalker was a slave. After he was a knight, he was a lord. He married in secret. His wife gave him that ring, pressed with a coat of arms. It is said that he had premonitions of death. Whether this is true or not, I don’t know. He dreamed his wife would die on the birthing bed and sought counsel from fortune-tellers and heathens. He became paranoid, and even before she made it to the birthing bed he was mad. He accused this pious and good woman of adultery. Then he put his hands around her throat. He didn’t kill her, but felt responsible. He had St. Julian engraved on the ring. Luke was given the ring when he came of age. He knew nothing of his birth parents— he didn’t know that his own father yet lived. When he learned their story, when he met his father… they fought. Luke almost killed him.”

Rey was quiet. She stared at the silver ring in the flickering candlelight. Aunt Leia had said to believe Maz’s ugly truths, but she couldn’t see it. She couldn’t envision her placid papa raising a sword or a hand against anyone. He was a man of God.

Maz continued. “That’s what prompted him to take Holy Orders, I think. He didn’t want that hate and anger. He served as a layman until you were a few years old. That life didn’t suit Mara; she was too feisty. Once she was gone, he made it official. But we were talking about the ring.

“On the side with the Skywalker crest, I want you to look closely at the setting for the sapphire. Not the sapphire itself, the setting.”

Rey gasped. “It looks like a tiny hole!”

“It is. This,” Maz said, gently taking the ring and tapping it just so, “is a poison ring. It’s a good way to cause a lot of pain.”

Rey blanched. “Why would I want to…”

“An eye for an eye.”

Leia’s penmanship was beautiful. She wrote with a strong slant to the right, perfectly straight lines crossing her Ts, and crisp punctuation. Leia’s letter, carefully worded and beautifully written, was asking Rey to do an ugly thing. To harm another person, to take vengeance, was not something she could do. She was here to gather information, nothing more.

“An eye for an eye leaves everyone blind,” she croaked. Her hold on the poison ring was slipping; her hands were sweaty and she was limp from the slowly dawning realization that she was expected to use this tiny thing to hurt another human being.

“No. If I take your left eye, justice means that you take my left eye. I don’t get to then take your right eye, because you didn’t do anything to my right. Do you understand? Pain in equal measure. Balance. We do to them what they did to Ben.”

“We?” Rey asked weakly.

“Yes, girl. I heard him learn his letters and I heard him scream in this gilded prison. I know the people who made his food. I can figure out what they put in it. We put that, or something with the same effects, into the gullets of Hux and Snoke. Next, figure out what exactly they’re doing to him in the tower and reciprocate.”

“No,” Rey said. Maz arched a single eyebrow. “I can’t do that. I won’t. I came here to look for letters and diaries, not do— this.” She thrust the ring at Maz. “You do what you think is right. I won’t be responsible for hurting someone who has been kind to me.”

The sound of Maz’s rough, jaded laughter stopped her before she could open the door. “Kindness to everyone is impossible. Being kind to the cruel means being cruel to the kind. Morals are fine when you’re living in a pastoral daydream, but here? There are nothing but scoundrels here, Rey. You’ll find no succor while waiting for damning evidence to fall into your lap. The only way out is forward, and the only way forward is to fight.”

None of this was said maliciously, but Rey felt as though she had been punched. A thought occurred to her. Uncle Han had said that scoundrels could be trusted, but only if they believed you would turn on them. She smiled slyly. “I could tell someone what you’re planning to do.”

“Oh, Aurelia, if only you had that kind of deviousness in you. But you don’t. Maybe if you— No. But do listen to Ben one night soon, yes? Perhaps the sound of his screaming will bring you around.”

Maz put the Skywalker ring back into the secret compartment of the wooden box and closed the false bottom. She tucked the box in her nook and slid a brick in behind it. She put the package’s twine in an apron pocket. As for the letter, she crumpled it into a ball with the packing paper and tossed the wad in the first fire she passed. She guessed Rey would try to avoid her. Maz wouldn’t let that happen.

======

How, Rey wondered, did her mission go from information gathering to torture? What had changed?

The letter was undeniably from Aunt Leia. Rey would recognize that handwriting anywhere. The ring was definitely the Skywalker heirloom. She didn’t know if the man in the tower was Ben. She had never even heard the man in the tower. Maz, a stranger, was putting an enormous amount of pressure on her to compromise her morals and principles. 

It all hinged on the idea that Benjamin was alive, something that hadn’t been true for two years. When she had left home, Benjamin was dead. No one had even raised the possibility of his being alive. Then again, Aunt Leia hadn’t told her that the Venetians weren’t to blame for their loss until two days before her departure. She could very well have kept her silence on this matter as well. It was cruel, but not outside the realm of possibility. And why not just send the blasted ring with her? Why risk sending it in a package to someone else? It stung that her aunt and uncle trusted Maz more than they trusted her. 

Rey compulsively fisted her hands in her apron over and over. Her head itched from wearing a stupid veil all the time, her back ached from sleeping on a pallet, and she had never felt more alone. She couldn’t breathe. She ran. 

Her lungs burned as she gulped in cold bursts of afternoon air. She felt her purse on her belt beneath her rough overtunic. It jangled with a few deniers. She walked.

======

To compare Paris to Genoa would be akin to comparing squares to circles. Indeed, Rey found the buildings of her beloved home to be boxy and sometimes plain. Paris, though— she had not been lying when she had told General Hux that she found Paris to be more beautiful. With the Palais and its pointed arches and painted ceilings behind her, the Notre Dame de Paris was before her. Dove gray towers beckoned her like a mother’s open arms. Pealing bells sang her a lullaby. She let the melody calm her. The October air bit her skin and turned her cheeks pink. She only stopped walking when she was close enough to examine the statuary.

Rey looked at the row of kings from the Old Testament. They looked back, silently judging. Wise Solomon deemed a woman worthy because she refused to compromise; Rey had lied her way into the city. King David felled mighty Goliath with a pebble; Rey couldn’t even find a piece of paper to fight her foes. King Josiah began his reformist rule at age eight and went on to destroy countless pagan altars and reclaim the Ark of the Covenant; Rey couldn’t bear to think of harming an adversary, much less destroying one. These kings stared at her from their high perch, judging her for her actions and her inaction.

But other kings looked on. Here was King Amon, idolatrous. Here stood King Abijah, who tried and failed to reunite Israel’s tribes. There was King Zedekiah, whose sins were so great that he was denounced by two prophets and his eyes were put out. Rey wondered whether these kings paid her more mind than the expanders and reformers.

Above them all, a giant stained glass rose window hung like the sun.

She averted her eyes for a brief moment, took a deep breath, and walked towards the old kings. She stopped again before she could enter. On the tympanum above the center door was an intricate stone carving. It was busy, filled with angels and devils and mortal souls, and at the center of it all, a scale. The Archangel Michael and the Adversary stood on either side, weighing someone for judgment. The scale tipped slightly in favor of the Archangel. Higher, men on bended knee paid tribute to God and still more angels atop a floating city. The Last Judgment would be interesting, Rey thought, provided the scale tipped the right way for her.

She sighed and once again stepped toward the cathedral, but a heavy hand on her shoulder stopped her.

“I know you,” a man’s voice said. Rey’s mind flew immediately to the dagger in her boot and how to punch. _Hit with your knuckles._ _Thumb out, otherwise you’ll break it. Wrist straight, otherwise you’ll break that, too_. “The lady pretending not to be a lady.” Ice ran through her veins. The blackguard had found her, and completely by chance. 

“Good manners don’t make a lady.” She shrugged his hand off by sidestepping. It was uncomfortable having him behind her, but she didn’t want to look at him. She didn’t want to see his face. It was easier to think that the blackguard was a suit of armor without a man inside it, and infinitely more comforting. No feeling human with a soul would kill because a person said “Urban” instead of “Clement”. To most of the world, the name of the Pope didn’t matter. What mattered was getting up every day and making a living.

“True,” he agreed, trying to step in front of her. Rey turned. “There’s something in your affect, though.” The cadence of his voice was lyrical and somewhat familiar. It was as if she had heard it before, not during a roadside interrogation, but like this. Without his helm. “You’re very familiar.”

“I can’t imagine why,” Rey said tartly, spinning away from him again. “I haven’t been here long.”

“I know,” he replied. “I remember you vividly. You said you were on a pilgrimage.”

She snorted. “Believe me, I’d like to be on my way home.”

The man laughed. “Ah, your Spaniard got you into a mess, did he?”

“It’s a family affair,” she sniffed, placing her back to the sun. If he tried to look at her now, his eyes would burn.

“Most messes are,” he parried. “What has he gotten his little wife into?”

“It’s not his fault,” she snapped and took a step back. She was ineptly dancing; he was expertly fencing.

“His mother, then. One rarely gets along with their mother-in-law.” 

Rey flushed. She knew nothing about Sir Dameron’s mother. The blackguard was executing an advance-lunge. She did an  _ esquive _ . “My mother-in-law only speaks Spanish. I don’t speak any. My husband has to translate on the rare occasions we see her.”

Rey could almost hear his disappointment. She had won. “You never tried to learn?” he asked from behind her.

“Well, yes. But every time someone speaks to me in Spanish I answer in Lat—”

_ Trompment _ .

The blackguard laughed and touched her elbow as if to escort her. She flinched. The touch was unwelcome, but the laugh… The laugh was simultaneously unnerving and wonted. It was like when Uncle Han laughed at a blasphemous joke.

“Don’t do that,” Rey said.

“What? Laugh? Whyever not?”

“It makes you remind me of someone. I don’t want that.”

“How can I remind you of someone if you won’t even look at me? I could be a Moor for all you know.”

“It’s something in your affect,” she said, throwing his own words back at him. “I would rather not think of you at all, especially not in conjunction with people I care about.”

There was a brief silence. “Why?”

“Because I saw the bodies!” Rey exclaimed. “I saw them that evening, thrown in the bushes like they were nothing. No God-fearing man would do that.” She fisted her hands in her apron and bit her bottom lip until it bled. “It’s deplorable.”

“You’re right,” he said. It was a simple, unironic, matter-of-fact statement. “No God-fearing man would do that. A group of men who claim to fear God does it. There are knights— proper knights, not someone like me— who do it. General Hux does it some nights. It absolutely is deplorable, but we do it anyway. I confess afterwards. The command comes from God, though. The monarch is divinely ordained, and we’re just following orders.”

Rey’s brow furrowed and she shook her head. “That’s completely contradictory. If God wants you to do it, why confess? And— General Hux kills them too?”

He snorted. “Hux started the program. Then it went up the chains of command, and here we are. As to your other question, I confess because it makes me feel better. In all honesty, I don’t know if King Charles has sanctioned the knights to kill. My commanding officer gave me an order.”

“Don’t you think it’s worth asking if this is truly an ordained military operation?”

Bitterness crept into his voice. “They don’t like it when you ask questions, Rey.”

She froze. She replayed their brief history in her mind: riding into the city with Sir Dameron, their little verbal sparring match. At no time had anyone called her  _ Rey  _ or  _ Aurelia _ . “How,” she said thickly, “do you know my name? I never told you.” 

“You— you didn’t? God’s nails, it’s happening again,” he muttered. Above the din of the crowd, she could hear his heavy footfalls behind her. “I get these flashes sometimes. I know things about places I’ve never seen, speak languages I’ve never learned, but not always. They’re like… visions. It’s why Lord Snoke chose me as an instrument of his Faith. He says now that we have to stop the visions, that they’re interfering with my ability to do what must be done. I dream in Italian even though I’ve never been. I don’t know who taught me Latin; I don’t know much of anything from before a year or so ago. I don’t know what the Falcon is, or why it’s so important that I get to it. I don’t know how I know your name. I don’t know who Han and—”

“Leia. Han and Leia and Luke. That’s what you were going to say.” Somehow, Rey was still standing. She was made of jelly but she was standing and shaking and still not looking at him because turning around meant making it real. Turning around meant Ben Solo was alive. Turning around meant Ben Solo didn’t remember any of them.

“How could you know that?” he whispered.

Turning around could also mean it was a lie. An elaborate hoax. Someone had found Maz’s secret letters and decided to get revenge. Turning around changed everything.

“I know,” she said slowly, “because your laugh reminded me of— You know that I’m from Genoa. Two years ago, my cousin vanished. We thought him dead, a victim of Lord Snoke. My Aunt Leia and Uncle Han live in Falcon House, by the seashore. My adoptive father, Luke, taught my cousin Latin. Uncle Han taught him chess, and he taught me chess. I’m going to tell you what my cousin looks like.” She heard him inhale sharply. “He has dark hair and eyes. His nose is a bit crooked. His ears stick out. He looks very much like his father and has the same temper. We weren’t terribly close, but that’s because he’s ten years older than me. He would have just turned thirty.” Behind her, she heard a swallowed sob. “I’d like to look at you now.”

Rey turned around.

Tears and laughter simultaneously escaped her. She covered her bloodied mouth with both hands to contain her hiccupped crying.

He was the same Ben, but so different. His hair was shorter and he had a collection of scabs and scars. He was somehow larger than she remembered, as though two years could make an already-grown man have a growth spurt. She reached a hand up to touch his cheek, to make sure he was real. He closed his own watery eyes and leaned into her touch. 

“Hello, Ben,” Rey whispered. 

He put his hand atop hers. “We… were supposed to get married?” he asked.

“We still are,” Rey clarified. “This whole thing is a ruse.” She gestured to her veil specifically.

“You’re very beautiful,” he murmured. “Why didn’t I want to spend time with you?”

Rey blushed. “Er, Uncle Han said that you said that you didn’t want to be thinking of me as a child while we were— on our wedding night.”

“Ah.” He cleared his throat uncomfortably. 

Beneath the watchful eyes of the Old Testament’s kings, famous and infamous, she had found him. The Archangel Michael breathed a sigh of relief, and the grotesques were less intimidating. Yes, the Notre Dame de Paris had brought Rey a miracle. She would pray and offer thanks later. Now was the time for action.

“Ben,” she said, loving that his name no longer tasted like ashes, “we need to go to the Vicomte’s house. That’s where I was supposed to go when I had finished my mission.”

Ben blinked several times in rapid succession and backed away. “Mission?”

“Yes. I was to find out if you were alive and how involved Snoke was in your disappearance, then get away from danger.”

“Lord Snoke,” Ben corrected. “He’s my mentor. He wouldn’t have anything to do with me disappearing. He wouldn’t hurt me.”

“You just told me that he’s trying to make you forget your life. How can you say he wouldn’t hurt you?” Rey’s hand still sat in the air where his face had been.

“I’m sure it’s a misunderstanding,” he said, a far-off look in his eyes. “He’s helped me so much. I don’t like to hear him slandered.”

A chill ran down her spine. “Ben, please come with me. We’ll write to your mother. We’ll fill in the blanks and play chess. We’ll get to know each other properly. I’ll tell you all about my mission. Please, Ben.”

His eyes burned as they locked with hers. He stepped close, towering over her. “My name,” he seethed, “is Kylo Ren.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Medieval cursing was kinda funny. You had the typical "damn it" situation, but that wasn't a big deal. What would be censored is "God's nails", "God's teeth", and so on. You were cursing or swearing upon a thing that had touched or was a part of Jesus; the implication was that you were causing harm to whatever body part you mentioned. Ouch?
> 
> Poison rings are really interesting. We have this idea in our heads of a little hinge beneath the stone setting, but that's because fashion jewelers make those *now*. Historically speaking, they're a lot more plain. You don't want to show off your murder weapon, do you? [This](https://www.huffpost.com/entry/medieval-poison-ring-bulgaria-14th-century_n_3792771) 14th century Bulgarian poison ring was my inspiration. Obviously the Skywalker ring is more ornate, but I got the idea for a hole in the setting from this specific item.
> 
> Please leave a contribution in the little box! This chapter in particular was a biiiiiitch to write and I'd love to hear what y'all thought!
> 
> Next time: A kiss?!?!


	5. A Declaration

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternate Title: brainwashing in the 14th century 
> 
> Alternate Alternate Title: Making fun of anti-reylo tropes and smashing them

_ My Dear Aunt, _

_ He lives, though I suspect you knew that from your correspondence with M--. I won’t lie; I’m very upset at being kept in the dark. This behavior is not something I expected from you. I thought we trusted each other. _

_ B-- is not well. He recognized me and has dreams of his life, but no memories before meeting S--. He believes the latter to be a savior of some kind and is fiercely loyal to him. Over the course of a conversation, B-- went from confused to angry. At last he told me that his name was some nonsense words and stormed off.  _

_ I am conflicted over what to do now. At present, I am writing from the V de C’s home. I know I was to come here when my mission was complete, but I confess myself at a loss. Having read your last letter via M-- I’m not certain what you want me to do. If you want me to carry out  _ _ those _ _ instructions, I fear I cannot. Does knowing B-- is alive mean my work is done? Because it is not.  _

_ Aunt, I can’t leave him here. He was so sad and lonely. He hadn’t felt a kind touch in years. I don’t know if he’s staying where M-- thinks or if S-- has a second location. I don’t know why he turned hostile. I don’t know a lot of things. I do know that, so long as I can, I will work to bring him home. _

_ I pray you are all well. _

_ Christ keep you, _

_ Your loving niece _

======

Rey had much to process. It was hard to think about Benjamin. Thinking about him in the abstract led her mind down several avenues and filled her head with a loud buzzing. Thinking of specifics was worse. He was a murderer, the monster on the road who had slaughtered innocents. He didn’t remember his life. He defended the man who was stealing his memories. And he had given himself a new name, or been given one.

“Kyle Ron, I think,” Rey said. She pulled a long strand of ecru linen and tied it in a delicate knot.

“Ren,” Connix corrected. “They call themselves the ‘Knights of Ren’, as if they’re a Holy Order.There are seven of them, if the rumors are true.” He shook his head once and sipped his wine. “Kylo Ren is the leader.”

Rey tied another tiny knot. “That’s the name. Kylo. Odd thing to call yourself.” Her brow furrowed in concentration. It was hard to think about Benjamin; it was easy to focus on making lace. “It makes one think of the sky.”

Kay looked up from her own silk lace work, her blonde braid tucked neatly out of the way. “Why do you say that?”

“It must come from Latin.  _ Caelum  _ means sky.  _ Caelo  _ is in the Lord’s Prayer. ‘In Heaven’ is its meaning there. The intention with this name, I believe, is to say ‘from the sky’. It can also mean God, metaphorically.” She shrugged. “My interpretation could be wrong, though. It could be meant to intimidate simply by being foreign.”

“And ‘Ren’?” the Vicomte prompted.

Rey ran through the nouns she recalled quickly in her mind. As far as she knew,  _ ren  _ was not a word. It could, however, be the beginning of one. “Fur. A body part of some kind… kidneys? Or, if it’s a verb, let’s see-- Return by swimming, return by sailing, resist, unravel, any number of things.”

“Well, that’s good then,” Kay said. She didn’t elaborate, but went on making evenly spaced knots with her silk. Her father coughed politely, prompting her to speak more in that placid, even tone. “It means he’ll come back to you. All of those verbs were about returning and fighting. It’s inevitable. A self-fulfilling prophecy. Whoever chose that name for their Order chose poorly.”

“Unless they meant that the person would always return to their fellow heathen brothers,” the Vicomte said.

Rey misplaced a knot and had to untie it. Kay was as steady as ever. “No. He’ll return to his family. Everything will be set right. It won’t be easy. It may get bloody. But I have faith that things will turn out.”

The Vicomte stared at his daughter in stunned disbelief. “Maybe I ought to send you to a nunnery. You’re more faithful than half the priests in Paris.”

“Do that,” Kay said softly, raising her eyes to meet her father’s, “and things will absolutely get bloody.”

The trio shared a laugh, the first one Rey had enjoyed since Genoa.

=====

Protestations that Rey should not return to the Palais were ignored. Maz, her odd scoundrel of an ally, was there. Leia seemed to want the old woman as a go-between, so being with her was logical. And, of course, there was the clock tower.

Rey had yet to examine it, to even pass by it. She hadn’t given herself the chance to hear any murmurings within. Now that she had spoken to Benjamin, now that she knew he was alive, she would be able to identify his voice. What she planned to do if she heard him was something she hadn’t considered. 

Maz arched a wispy gray eyebrow at her as she approached. “Well?”

“Well what?” Rey snapped. She shook her head and sighed, putting her anger aside. “I saw him. He’s alive.”

Maz nodded. “And very much not himself. I wonder… Will you walk the halls tonight?”

Rey shrugged and snatched polishing silks from a laundress. She had to tidy up after General Hux again, and he liked everything streamlined, spotless, and gleaming. She no longer wanted the General to accidentally interrupt her work. His perceived kindnesses had been just that-- perceived. She had assumed that he was trying to teach her something; he was more likely trying to assert power. There was no fault to find in her work and so he couldn’t chastise her, but he could make her feel small by bragging about his military campaigns and reminding her of her illiteracy. Now she knew that he was behind the slaughter of the faithful, that it had been his idea to have blackguards question and kill travellers. She snorted at her own ignorance. She had been warned about him. Uncle Han had a phrase he was fond of:  _ If it looks like a dog, barks like a dog, and has fleas like a dog, it’s a dog _ . Rey had chosen to ignore the warnings. Now she was faced with a dangerous hound.

=====

Night brought a new set of horrors. 

Rey walked as though she were supposed to be in the salle des gens d’armes corridor at midnight, the light brown stone lit by the flickering candle in her unsteady hand. Her other hand clasped a wooden rosary, and she prayed the  _ Ave Maria _ silently. She quickly and quietly went up a flight of stairs, dodging moonbeams and starlight that poured in the large windows. The clock tower was four stories tall. The tales put the screams behind the clock itself, on the second story. She took small, purposeful steps in that direction. Up and across; she was in an unfamiliar part of the Palais. She listened carefully, more alert with every step. She heard voices. She heard Benjamin’s voice. But she didn’t hear screaming.

She heard singing.

“My end is my beginning,” Benjamin sang weakly, “and my beginning is my end. This is truly my tenor. My end is my beginning. My third line three times only goes back on itself and so finishes. My end--”

A thud. A crack. A grunt, a groan. There was no more singing.

Rey covered her mouth to stop a shriek from escaping and pressed herself into a corner. The wooden beads of her rosary clacked against her teeth. She screwed her eyes shut and didn’t notice when an anxious exhale killed her candle’s flame. The cold stone of the Palais cut through her skin and clothes and chilled her bones.

“You, boy,” a voice croaked, “think yourself a modern Daniel, meant to forge your own way and shape the future. You are no Daniel. He respected those who raised him up. You? You shame and diminish me. Daniel was thrown to the lions, but did he complain? Did he? No, and he knew that the man who put him in the den had to do it. I’m putting you in a lion’s den for your own good. Those I cast into the fire deserve it. No angels are coming for you. No one is coming for you. There is only me. You serve me and carry out your Holy mission. That is what matters. Not your dreams. Not your visions. There are no true Prophets. Are you a witch, boy?”

A whimper. A slap. A mournful wail. “No, my lord.”

“Then we must purge you of these heathen visions. Inquisitions aren’t infrequent. They will call you a witch and burn you. You still have a Holy mission to carry out. You must still protect the faithful and punish the wicked. You must keep filth out of-- did I say you could sit up?”

A sob. A gasp. “No, my lord.”

“Maybe,” a new voice-- Hux-- said, “he needs incentive, Lord Snoke. Positive reinforcement.”

“A curious idea,” Snoke said, mischief in his tone. “What did you have in mind?” 

“A few days to relax. Maybe a good fuck.”

“I suppose we could buy him a whore for a few hours. What say you, Kylo Ren?”

Shaky breathing. Choking. “Thank you, my lord.” A whisper. “But I can’t.”

Peals of laughter echoed and rang like bells through the corridor. “I can’t decide if that’s more funny or depressing,” Hux said. Rey trembled in her corner, fists clenched.

“No, I  _ can _ ,” Benjamin whimpered, “but I have a-- a-- wife? Or she’s going to be my wife? It’s hard to remember.”

There was the unmistakable sound of bodies colliding; a fist to the jaw, a foot to the gut, an elbow to the ribs. “Who told you this?” The question was somehow both quiet and a roar, eking and bellowing from Snoke.

Erratic breathing. Gasps. Heavy footsteps. “She did. The girl. Aurelia.”

As she was running away, Rey heard Snoke make one last request. “The poker, Armitage, if you would.”

She finally, at long last and all too soon, heard the screams from the clock tower.

=====

Rey’s hands shook as she pulled the stone from the pantry wall. She pulled a seemingly plain wooden box from the nook and slid her finger along an almost invisible seam. She brought the Skywalker ring close, holding it in both hands. She put the sapphire to her lips reverently and felt the engraving of Saint Julian and the stag. 

The hole for poison was tiny. She didn’t know how she would fit anything into it. She didn’t know what she would put into it. She didn’t know how to get to Snoke. She took a deep breath as she replaced the stone and hid the ring in her purse. 

She did know how to heal. She knew what to give and not give the ailing. She had regular access to General Hux. She could work from there. She could hurt the men who hurt Benjamin. She would give him justice. And, like Benjamin, she would simply repent after the fact. 

That was only one piece of the puzzle. Rey still had to figure out what had caused her intended to lose himself. His memories were banished to the realm of dreams and his name was clearly a point of contention. Not only did Hux and Snoke have to be removed, but Ben Solo had to be truly found.

If she were at home, or even at the Vicomte’s estate, and allowed to be herself, she would be able to make proper plans. Lists of plants and foods, schedules, and ideas for how to remind her intended of his past would be everywhere. She would dictate items to Finn to help improve his penmanship. Uncle Han and Aunt Leia would offer suggestions. Papa would condemn the whole affair.

Or would he? Rey had been actively avoiding thinking about what Maz had revealed of his history. Cardinal Luke Skywalker could never have considered patricide. Gentle Papa would never hurt anyone. Rey didn’t know the Luke Skywalker who wore a sapphire ring and enjoyed swordplay. That facet of his personality was gone by the time he and his wife took in Rey. There might be just enough of that idealistic, feisty man left to support this course of action.

Affair, action, hurt. Better to focus on these words, Rey thought. Better to hide the sin under as many layers as possible. Maybe God would have a harder time finding it.

She ticked ideas off in her head. Plant by plant flew by until she was struck with a particularly powerful memory. 

Uncle Han had come home from some skirmish or another, but not uninjured. He laid in Falcon House for a week, feverish and vomiting and coughing. Finally, Luke brought help. Sisters in service to Saint Mary Magdalene descended upon Han, feeding him mutton and checking his skin for blemishes. He had gout in his toes, they said, and pneumonia in his lungs. The sisters made liniments for Han’s feet and squeezed oils from the leaves into his food and wine.  _ Too much will stop his heart _ , she remembered one saying.

“Dwale,” Rey whispered. “Belladonna.”

“I was thinking hemlock,” Maz said, startling her. “Smells like parsnips. Easy to mix into a stew.” Angrily, Rey brushed past the old woman and left the pantry. “A little bird told me that Old Snoke is hunting for an Aurelia. We must make sure he doesn’t find her.”

“A little bird,” Rey said bitterly. “You have ears everywhere, don’t you? Here, my home, probably even England. You never come out and say anything. Everything’s a web of secrets, but you’re the nexus. Do you know how maddening that is?”

“Yes.” 

“Then why do it?”

Maz sighed and took Rey’s arm, slowing her down. “In life, you always have choices. There is no such thing as a good or bad choice; that’s subjective. You do what you need to do to meet your goals. I’m too old to care if my needs hurt someone’s feelings. Our goals are the same. We should be sharing resources, not bickering. Grow up.”

The Skywalker ring was heavy in Rey’s purse. “Fine,” she said at length.

“Then I have good news and bad news. The good news is that our boy is safe for at least a few nights. The bad news is why-- you-know-who has moved to the king’s  _ hôtel _ .”

“Then we focus on Ben,” Rey said. “The rest can come later.”

=====

Christmastide was fast approaching, and with it came a cold like Rey had never known. A poor harvest across the continent had led to famine, starvation, and the loss of much livestock. There was no accounting for the sudden change in climate. Witchery was suspected. Divine anger was suspected. Jewish meddling was suspected. Rey didn’t much care why it was so cold so long as she could avoid it. She wore heavier hose and thicker garments. She kept inside as much as possible. She tried not to think of her family.

She missed the Saturnalian revels of Genoa. Uncle Han had more than once been elected Lord of Misrule. His tenure included boisterous midnight parades through the city proper and paupers sitting in his place for supper. Aunt Leia would wear trousers. Even her papa indulged, putting on a mask covered in feathers. Abstaining from meat and fasting were difficult but not impossible with the promise of a Christmas boar looming. The Skywalkers and Solos ate well during the forty days of Saint Martin, enjoying seafood and rich animal broths.

These days Rey spooned down thin fish soups, more water than stock. It was almost as cold as the air, nearly as thin as what the prisoners ate. There was no Christmas boar waiting, which made stomaching the fish soup all the harder. The only thing she looked forward to was Mass.

She had yet to step inside the Notre Dame. Christmas would be her chance. She would see it at its best, decorated with sprigs of fir and holly and full of people singing hymns. She couldn’t wait to write home about it. She couldn’t wait to  _ be  _ home. 

A light snow fell outside the windows of the Palais. People and animals slipped and skidded, some laughing, most grousing. Rey hugged herself for warmth; her breath made little clouds in the air and left white spots on the glass. Her eyes flitted down the corridor. Snoke was at the hôtel _ .  _ This was an excellent time to get into the clock tower. With any luck, she and Ben could be out of Paris before Epiphany.

The salle des gens d’armes was a large, open corridor. Its ceilings were high, pointed vaults supported by thick round columns. It was generally very beige, but a sunny day could turn it a cheerful yellow. Above this conciergerie was the Grand-Salle, an ornate banquet hall that functioned infrequently now that King Charles lived at his hôtel. Rey, having been at the Palais for nearly three months, expertly navigated her way through and around. She found the clock tower with ease.

It was formidable-- its stone walls were nearly three feet thick-- but somehow seemed larger in her mind. It should have had bars and signs.  _ Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch'intrate  _ or something of the sort. The screams and whimpers and noises of human cruelty were gone, but their echoes lingered. The miasma of unpleasantness surrounding the tower expanded with each heartbeat.

She tried the door.

Sickhouses had a particular smell, a peculiar one. There were the odors one expected: vomit, piss, congealing blood, and unclean bodies. On top of that was the heavy smell of flowers, putrid in its own way. Flowers were tucked into garments, set by beds, used in medicines, and dried in the windows. The sweet smell was meant to ward off the plague. In a cruel twist, the flowers weren’t sweet-smelling. They were cloying and overpowering. Too much time around them gave Rey a headache.

The stench of a sickroom hit her as soon as the door opened a fraction. 

Light streamed in through small windows on the northern and eastern walls. There was little in the room; a bucket of waste in one corner, some fireplace tools thrown haphazardly, moldy blankets in a pile against the far wall, and the flowers. There were flowers everywhere, strategically placed so that the stink of filth and sin wouldn’t reach beyond the door. 

Shutting the door carefully behind her, Rey stepped further into the room. It was somehow colder than the corridors, colder than the snow-dusted streets of Paris. Every inhale burned her lungs. Her teeth chattered. 

“Ben?” she whispered. The mound of moth-eaten blankets moved slightly. “Ben!” She rushed to his side and began to uncover him.

Dark, bloodshot, fevered eyes scanned her face. “I know you,” he croaked. 

“Oh, Ben! Let me look at you.” He was shivering and sweating. His skin was hot to the touch and had flecks of dried blood here and there. Worse, a jagged line, red and oozing, cut vertically across the right side of his face and over his eye. She brushed her fingers along it, clearing some of the blood with the corner of a blanket. She smiled at him.

“Are you an angel?” he asked, voice cracking.

She smoothed his sweat-slicked hair. “No. I’m Rey.” She had considered carefully what to say and what not to say. When they had met in the shadow of the Notre Dame, he had been hungry for information about his life; he became standoffish when she talked about taking him away from Snoke. “Take your time. It’ll come to you.”

His face screwed up in concentration, re-opening the gash on his cheek. “I remembered you before. And you… told me about my dreams?” Rey nodded. “You knew their names. All of the names. And you said it was because… because… I’m your brother?”

“Heavens, no!” Rey said. She put his head in her lap and carded her fingers through his hair. “We’re not related. Your uncle adopted me.”

His rattling, uneven breaths began to steady. “And we’re going to get married.”

“That was always the plan,” Rey said.

“Is it not the plan anymore?” he asked, his voice breaking.

“If you want it to be,” she replied slowly. “You were rather upset at the prospect last time we met.”

“Was I? It’s so hard to remember.” He turned so that he was looking at her face. Gazing down at him, Rey counted the new wounds. She traced the cut that bisected his face with light fingers. Tears welled in Ben’s eyes. “It’s so lonely here. No one here is kind. They shouldn’t be, for all I’ve done, but even my comrades are cruel. Knowing that no one out there misses me or loves me is the hardest part.”

“Why would you say that?”

Ben’s eyebrows furrowed. “Lord Snoke says so. And he has a point. If they-- the people in my visions-- if they loved me, they would be looking for me. No one is looking. No one is coming.”

Rey pressed a cold kiss to his forehead. “That’s not true at all. I’m here. They sent me to look for any information about you. Lord Snoke told us you were dead, killed by Venetians. Your parents wanted to know the truth.”

“So they sent a girl?” He snorted.

“They sent the person who could find information easiest. I’m not the only one in the city who wants to help you. There are plenty of people in the Palais as well. Trouble is, they get sacked if they so much as see your face.”

“People have tried to help me?” He sat up. Taking her hands, he began to speak quickly. “Han and Leia? And others?”

Rey nodded, rubbing his freezing hands with hers. “Yes. There are so many people who care for you. So many people love you, Ben.”

The sun rose behind his eyes, sending away clouds Rey hadn’t realized were there. She studied his expression, a curious mix of determination and sadness. He exhaled and cleared his throat.

“Do you? Love me, I mean.”

Rey bit her lip. “That’s tricky. We don’t know one another well; we never did. I can’t say honestly that I love you as a wife ought to yet, but there’s still time. As a person, though-- one human being to another-- yes, Benjamin, I love you.”

Ben smiled. “You’re honest. Uncle Luke probably drilled that into you early.” Rey nodded. “Luke did a lot of things, some of which I’m happy to forget. Lord Snoke knows how to make me forget, but he doesn’t let me choose what. I think he uses words. A certain word makes me his pet, another word makes me forget, another word makes me normal, and so on. He always tells me that I’m alone and that no one will ever love me. He’s the only person who will ever have a use for me.” Rey linked their chilled fingers and fought back tears. “But you said ‘Benjamin, I love you’, and now I can see you playing on the beach with your hair tied in knots while my father and mother laugh. I can hear my father laughing. It’s so much more vivid than any dream and I don’t know what to do with it.”

“Hold on to it,” Rey said, wiping a tear from his cheek. “Keep it safe. And if you are made to forget again, I’ll simply say  _ Benjamin, I love you _ until I collapse.” She pulled him close, resting her head upon his shoulder. He absently stroked her arms and back, clutching her like a lifeline. When her stomach growled, he laughed.

“You should go,” he said simply.

“No!” she protested. “It’s just St. Martin’s. The fare isn’t exactly…”

“Good?” Ben prompted.

“I was going to say ‘what I’m used to’, but you aren’t wrong.”

He laughed again and led her to the door surrounded by dying flowers. “You really should go. I don’t want them to catch you.”

“Snoke is at the hôtel and General Hux is in a war meeting, I think. You can keep me.”

“Would that I could. This place isn’t really suited for entertaining a lady, though, and I have some thinking to do.”

She nodded. “May I visit you again?”

“Only if you’re certain you won’t get caught.” He smiled at her and she returned the gesture, looking at the floor sheepishly. As she turned to leave, he called her name quietly. She regarded him curiously. “Can I kiss you?”

“Oh.” It wasn’t an outlandish request. If he had never been taken by Snoke, the pair of them would be doing a fair bit more than kissing by now. Rey tried to push that image from her mind; instead, it became more vivid and her face grew hot. He was, if all went to rights, her future husband. She would be kissing him eventually. And he was so lonely. Hers was likely the first kind touch he’d known in years. “Oh. Yes. Yes, of course.”

It was a brief thing, a meeting of soft frigid lips and hot dry ones. His hands were on her shoulders and his eyes were closed, which made Rey think that she was supposed to close her eyes and put her hands on him somewhere. She settled on his hips. She trembled. 

“You’ve never kissed anyone before,” he said simply. She shook her head, fingers digging into his clothes. “Why not?”

“I was waiting for you,” she rasped. “Benjamin, I love you. Remember that you’re not alone.”

She ran. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All that fun Latin stuff with 'Kylo Ren' was (c) me, Nov 2019. I have no idea where JJ got the name, but that's my hot take *shrug* <s>I also really wanted to use Kyle Ron in a fic u mad?</s>  
Ben is singing "Ma fin est ma commencement" by Guillaume de Machaut, one of the few songs I could find from this time period. Startlingly apt!  
_Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch'intrate_ is from the Divine Comedy, commonly translated as, "abandon hope, all ye who enter here".
> 
> Christmastime in the high middle ages is fascinating. What we call Advent they called the Feast of St Martin, the 40 Days of St Martin, or just St Martin's. Christmas day wasn't a big deal; its only appeal was the fact that you could finally stop fasting and abstaining (bonus fact: Popes would sometimes be like, "You know what? I know we're supposed to fast, but how about we just abstain? Just us bros, tho. Everyone else still fasts."). Epiphany was the big celebration. Gifts weren't a thing until the very late high middle ages, and even then it kinda sucked. You gave a gift to your lord and that was pretty much it. The holiday season (Christmas to Epiphany) in Italy was _popping_. They were not afraid to do some pagan shit and kept Saturnalia alive.
> 
> Depending on your favorite brand of science, the Little Ice Age was either just beginning or in full swing in '78. Yes, some people actually blamed it on the Jews. More people screamed that it was witchcraft because everyone knows witches control the weather, DUH. The Little Ice Age is cited as one factor in witch hysteria.
> 
> Next time: a wild Rose Tico appears and Amilyn Holdo is the life coach you didn't know you needed.


	6. A Web

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternate Title: trying to put my favorite TLJ characters in this story is hard because I started it way before TLJ came out
> 
> cw: non-graphic violence associated with a fight near the end.

She cried into Maz’s skirts late into the night. The old woman stroked Rey’s hair and murmured soothing words. Maz nodded along as Rey told her what had happened with Ben, oddly serene. The small matron dried Rey’s tears and made everyone budge over a spot on their pallets with the announcement that Rey would be sleeping nearest the fire that night. Between Rey’s tears and Maz’s tone, no one thought to argue. The following morning, and all subsequent mornings, none of the staff brought it up. Maz’s word was law.

With Snoke at the hôtel, Rey’s steps were a little lighter. There was no question about using the Skywalker ring now-- justice had to be done-- but the priority was Ben. She remembered the scratches and burns on his face, the sound of his screams. She entered General Hux’s room backward, a basket of clean linens in her hands, and wondered what justice he deserved. Would Maz think hemlock the appropriate price? 

Rey held no illusions of power in this scheme. She had been lied to and manipulated from the start, even by her family. She knew that when push came to shove, she wouldn’t be the one making the big decisions. Leia, Han, and Maz had probably already made them. All she could do was her part, and she  _ had  _ decided that. Come Hell or high water, she was saving Ben.

She tucked the corners of Hux’s sheets the way he liked and fluffed the pillows. A single feather puffed out and sent her on a chase. She dusted the bookshelves and polished the hardware. She heard the  _ click  _ of the door shutting and her heart froze.

“My lord,” she said, dropping into a quick curtsey. Typically Hux was quick to dismiss her or tell her to keep at her job. He was staring at the crown of her veiled head, his eyes boring through her skull.

“Your name, Rey,” he said at length. “What is it short for?” Distantly she heard Maz’s warning that Snoke and Hux were hunting for a woman called Aurelia.

“Raimona, my lord,” she lied easily.

Hux sighed and ran a hand down his drawn face. “Of course. Back to work, then. I’ll be in my cabinet; no disruptions.”

======

In hindsight, it was a bad idea: poorly planned, not thought out rationally, and reckless. Rey’s heart was guiding her, and that bleeding heart grabbed a hunk of brown bread and a sliver of salmon. It led her brazenly through corridors lined with large columns and lit by the gray light of the December sky. It sent her to the clock tower. She rapped on the door twice with her knuckles.

“Ben? It’s me. I brought food,” she whispered at the seam where the door met the wall. The stench of dead and dying flowers was overwhelming. 

The doorknob rattled. “It’s locked.” 

Rey tried it. “From this side, too.” She sank to the floor, leaning against the heavy door. “I’m sorry. I thought to ease your suffering, but…”

She heard a shuffle and a quiet  _ thunk _ ; he was sitting against the door as well. “It’s St. Martin’s, though. Why bring food? Luke would be upset if he knew.”

“Maybe,” she said, “but Christ wouldn’t. You’re suffering. ‘Blessed are you who hunger now’. It’s only right.”

“So you’re doing it for God?” His voice was muffled.

She sighed. “No. I’m doing it for you, which might be wrong, so I’m using Scripture to justify it.”

He chuckled. “At least you’re honest.”

She shook her head and smiled, looking down at the bread and fish she had brought. “So you’ve said.”

A shadow fell over her, and the peace of the moment was doused with cold water.

“And how many times have you spoken to this creature, that he could form an opinion of you?” General Hux loomed above her, sneering and red.

“My lord!” Rey jumped to her feet and curtseyed. The food fell to the floor, tumbling out of its kerchief. “I was only--”

“Interfering? Meddling? Did you not think there was a reason he was kept locked up?” Hux grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her. “That man-- that  _ thing _ \-- is a monster and a murderer. Why were you here? Tell the truth! I’ll know if you’re lying.”

Rey didn’t struggle in his firm grasp. She couldn’t take her eyes off of his, flinty and cold, the eyes of a fevered madman. “There were ghost stories!” The words burst from her mouth. “They said to come to the tower at night to see the ghost, so I did. And the door was open and he was in there. And we talked a little about-- my husband and God and he seemed perfectly reasonable, not at all like a murderer, my lord! He said he’s a knight. And I thought it right to give him something to eat, since he’s serving God and the king and it’s St. Martin’s. I know it’s not good fare for a knight, but it’s the only thanks I can afford and he could wait until evening--”

“That’s enough,  _ Aurelia _ ,” Hux said, holding up a hand.

“R-Raimona, my lord.”

Hux exhaled sharply through his nose and released her. She wasn’t sure if he believed her. “This creature is no knight. He serves no king or god. He is barely a man. He is a construct on a very particular mission. You will not come near this tower again.”

“No, my lord. I mean, as you say, my lord.”

======

Rey did not go near the clock tower again.

By evening, she was out of a job.

======

_ My dear aunt, _

_ I have lost my position. The VdC is in the country for the season, so I am staying with the MH AH, whom M-- says is reliable. She has letters in your handwriting about the subject at hand, so I have chosen to trust her. This new association makes me wonder how large a web M-- has. It also makes me think that you have withheld critical information from me. It would have been beneficial to know who here is a friend. _

_ B-- was not well when I saw him last. My understanding is that he is routinely injured. He himself believes that he is being tricked into forgetting and remembering. Being told that he is loved seems to help him. I overheard some of the horrible things his tormentors said to him; I won’t repeat them. _

_ I had hoped to be finished by Epiphany. Alas, that’s not to be. AH believes she can get me close to S--, or get someone close to him. M-- continues the fight in her location. _

_ I wish you all blessings and send my love at this Holy time of year. _

_ Yours in Christ, _

_ Your loving niece _

======

The Most Honorable Marquise Amilyn Holdo had nearly as many connections as Maz. She was Leia’s age, and her family was  _ noblesse uterine _ , an old aristocratic line from Champagne that was so proud even its female descendants could inherit. She was graceful and poised, armed with a sharp tongue and wits to match. Amilyn insisted upon being called by her first name and shirked propriety whenever she could. Above all, it was her clothes that stood out to Rey. The Marquise wore vibrant colors and patterns, greens and purples, and her veils were just as bright.

“A woman has to express herself somehow,” she said by way of explanation, and that was that. 

Staying with Amilyn during St. Martin’s was bliss. They abstained from meat but ate hearty soups and broths. Apparently the Holdo household, small as it was, held a sumptuous Christmas dinner. Venison, beef, and even chicken were a few short weeks away. In the meantime, broth and white rolls and saffron tarts were more than sufficient. Rey had almost forgotten what rich food tasted like; it was one of the things she loved best about Falcon House. Dining with her Papa usually meant brown bread and fish.

As a show of good faith, Amilyn gave Rey access to her correspondence with Leia regarding Benjamin. The letters began with a mother declaring simply that her son was dead. A letter dated less than a month later showed Leia’s cautious suspicions. The third letter asked her friend to make inquiries about Snoke. Two years of a conversation bloomed before her eyes. Amilyn filled in the gaps-- what she had written in response, what the initials stood for, and ongoing plans. 

“When you got involved, we had to change the code,” Amilyn explained. “You see, we already had an R. We already had an A. But we couldn’t write ‘we have to change the code’. So this bit here was what clued me in.” She pointed to one particular line written in Leia’s sharp, slanted scrawl.

_ I’m sending a few things to M--. One was my father’s. The other now belongs to my brother. He treasures rs so. The former will come in the usual way, the latter with an escort. _

“You see? The little ‘rs’? It’s messy and could be mistaken for an inkblot or a scratchy ‘it’ in Leia’s handwriting. But I know your family. Luke doesn’t own many things. I knew your name. No package to old Maz would need an escort. The Vicomte got a similar letter, Maz got two, and a few others are in the loop.”

“Except me,” Rey said. “Aunt Leia seems to have told everyone the details of this mission except me.”

“I think,” Amilyn said at length, “that’s because she’s afraid. She really thought her son was dead for a time. Telling you too much would put you, and others, in danger.”

“Telling me too little put me in danger!” Rey snapped. “The only people they said to trust were the Connixes. If they had said to trust Maz, things would have been so much easier. Instead, she gave me doublespeak and riddles. I could have found Ben a lot sooner. I could have--”

“Gotten found by Snoke. It’s damn lucky you were only found by Hux. Snoke sends people to the prison tower. Our people say he visits them from time to time. He asks them questions, but they don’t answer. Their tongues are removed.”

Rey ran her fingers over the bruises Hux’s hands had left on her arms. She suddenly felt very fortunate. “I see.”

Amilyn sighed. “I don’t think you do. But that’s probably good. You’re young and kind and devout. We don’t want to fill your head with dark thoughts.”

Rey narrowed her eyes and clenched her fists in the warm fabric of her kirtle. “What if I want to know them? I’m going to be marrying Ben, aren’t I? Don’t I deserve to know?”

Amilyn blinked rapidly and cocked her head to the side. “You have a point. You’re an adult. I think that, because you’re unmarried, that gets forgotten. You still have a lot to learn about life. You need to know when to fight, for example, and when to retreat. When and how to compromise. How to be a wife. How to be a mother. How to stay true to yourself while being a wife and mother. You’ll lose a lot of personal freedoms, Rey. I know it’s different in Italy, but the fundamentals are still the same. Look to Leia for guidance. I know you’re angry at her right now, but she loves you. She grew up in a much stricter environment. She’ll help you, but ultimately we must all find our own path.”

Rey didn’t have a response.

======

The Tico sisters had not lived in Paris long. They came from Normandy after their parents had been killed in skirmishes between the French and English. Paige Tico led her younger sister through the countryside, along dangerous roads, and into the Palais. Paige had scrubbed floors. The cold water made her knuckles bleed and her knees were often bruised. Paige didn’t flinch when she began to find blood in the halls. She just scrubbed and kept her head down. She shared her suspicions with old Maz Kanata, who gave her extra spending money for information. Paige saw the young man one night, pale and wan, corpse-like in pallor. He screamed for help; she ran to him and was caught around the waist by someone sinister.

Paige Tico had been thrown in the prison tower of the Palais two years ago and had died in the darkness. 

There was no grave for Rose to visit. There was nothing of her sister buried in a churchyard or consecrated. That was the hardest thing. All Rose had was a crescent pendant whose twin had vanished with her sister. When she touched the pendant, she could feel Paige’s spirit. Paige had died trying to help the man in the Palais; Rose would live doing the same.

Marquise Holdo found her a good position at the king’s Hôtel Saint-Pol. She couldn’t write, but she could read a little. She had a knack for taking things apart and putting them back together, a keen eye that let her spot the slightest variance in patterns. She was demure and had a sweet temperament. Amilyn found her helpful; the Crown determined her traits to be useful.

Rose blended into the background, darning hose and mending sundries. She kept the linens white with lye that burned her hands after too long. She waited. She watched. And eventually a pattern broke.

The hôtel was not a singular place; it was three buildings. Rose stayed in the building where King Charles lived. The walls were inlaid with gold and pearls, and the furniture had stories painted onto or embroidered into it. The King’s Council, twelve men of varying import, visited regularly. There was shouting behind closed doors when they met, accusations and recriminations. 

On a particularly cold day, the king dismissed the council as usual. Unusually, he himself didn’t leave. More unusually, a tall, looming man in gaudy clothes loomed in Rose’s periphery and slid into the council room like a snake. The door slammed shut behind him, but Rose inched closer.

She never looked up and she never dropped a stitch. She later reported to the Marquise that King Charles had called the interloper  _ my dear Snoke _ and had said a public denunciation of Pope Urban was days away. She reported that the king was distressed at hearing that errant knights were killing in his name. She reported that Snoke calmed him with a few honeyed words. She mentioned the glaring omission of a promise to stop.

She kept at her sewing and no one was the wiser.

======

Every day Rey asked for updates from the Palais and hôtel. Every day she got nothing. Sometimes Amilyn would offer a shrug and a cryptic remark.  _ Maz says she has both dwayle and hemlock now _ . That did no one any good. Rey had the Skywalker ring. How was Maz supposed to stealthily poison anyone?  _ Snoke was at the hôtel late last night _ . That information gave Rey nothing. She knew where he spent his time when he wasn’t hurting Ben; she still had no access to him.

As Christmastide was coming to a close, Amilyn proposed midnight Mass at the Notre Dame de Paris. “Everyone will be there,” she said. “And we must look our best. Wear our finest things. Do you have jewelry or shall I lend you some?”

Rey considered for only a moment. “I have the family ring.”

“You ought to wear that.” It was a command phrased as a suggestion.

The ring was heavy and made for a man. Leia had always worn it on her thumb. Rey wrapped some fabric around the inside to make it more snug and slid it on her middle finger.

Rose burst into Amilyn’s salon, sweating despite the snow and ice outside. Her kirtle and overdress were thin and worn, and she hadn’t bothered to pull her hood all the way up. Red-faced and panting, she pulled a crumpled wad of paper from her sleeve and handed it to the Marquise. She wasn’t quite grinning, but she was ready to burst. Amilyn smoothed what she had been given and read quickly, silently.

“That’s good news. Thank you, Rose. Wine?” Rose nodded and gulped down a glass of red. Amilyn explained the situation to Rey. “It seems that General Armitage Hux is indisposed. Bed-ridden, in fact. He cannot feel or move his legs and is having great difficulty breathing.”

Rey had three simultaneous revelations:

One, that Benjamin was safe at the Palais so long as the General was indisposed.

Two, that those were the symptoms of hemlock poisoning.

Three, Maz was truly going to murder Hux.

Rey’s tongue was dry and heavy. “How did you come by this information?”

“One of the Council members dropped their paperwork. I saw that man’s name--” she curled her lip “--and slid the page under my skirt while I picked up the rest. He never suspected. It’s amazing what you can do when you’re invisible.”

“My aunt and uncle said something very similar.”

Amilyn cleared her throat. “It sounds like Hux isn’t long for this world.”

“No,” Rose said, “and I probably should feel bad about that. I don’t though. People get sick and die all the time. I think God has decided to punish him. He’s a horrible, evil man. I don’t wish harm on anyone, but if it has to be someone… Well, he’s a fine target for Divine wrath. He and Snoke both.”

Rey had her fourth revelation: Rose did not know that Hux was being poisoned. 

The Marquise sent Rose back to the hôtel, reminding her to wear her hood. Rey glared at Amilyn, waiting. The stately woman poured each of them a glass of wine and sat next to Rey. The crackling of the hearth drowned out the sounds of Paris.

“She can’t know,” Amilyn said bluntly. “She would object. Rose is clever, but she doesn’t see the big picture. She would have us use kindness. She wants to change hearts. That’s not how change works here. Change is violent. Change is bloody. King Charles and the boy on England’s throne aren’t talking things out, are they? In Genoa, you consider the strength of your allies, not their capacity to love. Do you have more soldiers than the Venetians? Which army can bring peace? I’m not saying it’s ideal, and I’m certainly not saying it should stay this way. But this is how it is.”

Rey just nodded. She helped herself to more wine.

======

General Armitage Hux died on the twenty-fourth of December in 1378  _ anno Domini _ . 

No one in the shadow resistance against Hux and Snoke smiled or cheered. They went about their lives, feeling a little safer than the day before. Rey felt closer to home, closer to the future, but was surprised to find that she felt no joy. As she put on a heavy kirtle and belt for Mass, she thought about the two sides of himself he had shown her. He had been kind in that show-offish way and had bruised her. He was not a nice man. Looking at the carving of the scales on the Notre Dame, she wondered which way it would tilt for him. Would he be sent to Hell for his deeds, or would the Archangel Michael judge him on any good intentions?

She was wearing gray. Kirtle, over-tunic, and hose were all warm and light. The dagger in her boot was no longer uncomfortable, but a familiar weight. It reminded her of Sir Dameron, and she wondered where he was. She hoped he was somewhere warm.

The Marquise led Rey into the cathedral. Amilyn strode in with familiarity, but Rey took her time. She let the heady smell of frankincense overwhelm her, marvelled at the shining black and white floor, and watched, delighted, as candlelight flickered and danced against the limestone walls. They lit votives and said silent prayers. Finally, they walked quietly through the nave to the front of the cathedral and genuflected at a polished oak pew. Amilyn slid in first and became very still. Rey looked at the altar, flanked by towering stained glass that she couldn’t wait to see in daylight. She looked up and couldn’t find the ceiling; it was too high and even ten thousand thousand candles couldn’t make that much light. She was positively giddy. The first notes played on the pipe organ played. She turned to see the instrument, but her head stopped mid-turn.

Ben was across from the aisle from her, almost close enough to touch. 

Amilyn’s hand clamped down on Rey’s knee. “Not now,” she whispered. “Not with Snoke and the rest of them here.”

So Rey stared. A bald, wrinkled man with a gold-embroidered tunic whispered in Ben’s ear. His eyes found Rey’s. They were blue, but somehow also dark fathomless pits. She shivered. Snoke. The reason she was in Paris. The man who hurt Ben. The man who put her family through years of misery. 

The procession began and everyone stood. She felt like throwing up. She was simply going through the motions, vision blurred. She had a fleeting memory of trying to teach Finn to Cross himself--  _ Up, down, left, right. It’s not that difficult _ \-- and nearly missed the cue to make the Sign of the Cross herself. She was so glad, relieved really, that the Bishop didn’t face the congregation and that God was watching the Bishop instead of her. She was one of the few people in the building who understood what was being said, but she was too distracted to hear it. She kept sneaking glances at Ben. The frankincense was making her dizzy. They stood to hear the Gospel and she looked at him again.

He was looking back. So was Snoke.

Amilyn pinched her. “Not now,” she hissed again.

They were kneeling. It was hot; the press of so many people in one room and the candles and the incense and the anger all flushed Rey’s face. They were standing. They were forming a line for Communion. Rey stepped into the aisle. Ben followed, then Amilyn, then Snoke. Rey trembled as the line inched forward. She bowed her head and let the Eucharist be placed on her tongue. She was given a sip of bitter wine. 

In hindsight, it had been a bad idea. She should have gone along with the Mass and tried to catch Ben after. Instead, she turned on her heel and touched Ben’s hand while he was taking his wine. He stood up straight, stared at her in confusion, and said, “I know you. I think I’m not supposed to know you.”

Rey exhaled as though she had been hit. Then she remembered their conversation in that awful room and said the four words that would help him remember. “Benjamin, I love you.”

Ben stumbled, except he hadn’t. He had been knocked off-balance when Snoke barged forward. Amilyn was on the floor, fighting to stand. Snoke put a long-fingered hand on her head and shoved her with more force than Rey would have thought an old man capable of. He grabbed Ben’s elbow. “What a rude girl,” he admonished. “Kylo Ren, remember your mission. It is a Holy calling.”

“Benjamin, I love you,” Rey said louder. The crowd, clergy included were giving them a wide berth. Amilyn stood at last and added her voice to Rey’s. “Benjamin, I love you.”

Ben wasn’t moving. Snoke laughed. “An admirable effort. No one loves him, and he knows it. Kylo Ren, come.”

Rey began to sniffle as Ben followed Snoke back to their pew. She and Amilyn shuffled towards theirs. Before they could sit, a commotion broke out. Ben was running for the doors, and Snoke was chasing him.

Rey bolted, weaving in and out of people expertly. She pushed open the heavy doors of the Notre Dame de Paris. At the bottom of the stairs, surrounded by snow and covered by a cloudy night, two men circled each other. Ben was physically superior, tall and broad and muscled, but Snoke was armed. The old man’s sword was still in its scabbard, ready to be unsheathed at any moment. Rey wondered why Ben didn’t have a sword, or at the very least a dagger, on him. With numb fingers, she reached into her boot and pulled out the dagger Sir Dameron had given her at the beginning of her journey.

“Ben!” she cried, rushing down the steps. She slipped, and the dagger fell from her grasp and landed at Snoke’s feet. 

He didn’t seem to hear her, but Snoke did. He unsheathed his longsword and held it out, examining it. The light coming from the cathedral’s windows played on its surface, creating deceptively pretty patterns. “It’s a nice blade, don’t you think?” Snoke asked. “The king gave it to me. The  _ rightful  _ king, Edward of Windsor, for my loyalty and duty in the French territories.”

Rey gasped. “You’re an English spy!”

He rounded on her. “I work for no one but myself.”

In her periphery, she saw Ben picking up her dagger.  _ Keep Snoke talking _ . “You just said that the English rewarded you for your service in France, but the French think you’re working for them. That makes you a spy.”

Snoke took two lazy steps toward her. “Your sex isn’t predisposed to politicking. I also killed Edward’s son and now a child rules all of England. Does that sound like something an English patriot would do?”

Rey snorted and fidgeted with the ring on her finger. “It sounds like you want the world to burn.”

He shrugged and took another step. “Phoenixes can only rise from ashes.” The tip of his sword touched the stone beneath their feet. He dragged it slowly, crafting a hellish sound and an ugly arc in the snow. Ben was holding her dagger in a white-knuckled grip, staring at it. Snoke smiled at her. It was more gruesome than the shadows of the stone monsters that spewed water from the cathedral, chilling in its serenity. “He won’t attack me. Kylo Ren is mine through and through. I could tell him to jump into the Seine and he would do it without question. Your lordling is dead.”

“He’s not!” Rey protested. “He’s not gone, and I know he’ll return with me. And if-- if you really believed what you were saying, you wouldn’t need to hold a sword to his throat.”

Snoke raised his eyebrows. “Very well. Let’s test your theory.” He sheathed his sword and Rey breathed a sigh of relief. He had fallen for it. “Kylo Ren, come here.” Ben’s eyes met Rey’s and she smiled; Snoke wasn’t as in control as he thought. To Rey’s horror, Ben moved like a marionette and knelt before Snoke. “Bring the girl to me,” Snoke commanded.

Rey had been terrified of the blackguard on the road outside of Paris. She had never been afraid of Ben. To her, they weren’t even the same person. She couldn’t reconcile the idea in her mind. Now, the blackguard stalked towards her, and that blackguard was Benjamin. She gaped, a fish on dry land, as he took her by the shoulder and marched her to his lord. “I love you,” she gasped. “Benjamin, I love you--”

Rey realized three things simultaneously.

One: Amilyn hadn’t followed her.

Two: She was going to die.

Three: Ben had squeezed her hand before leaving her side.

She didn’t know how those things were linked, or if they were linked, but all of her thoughts were one thought, rushing like the Seine, ebbing like the sea, moving violently in her head. She thought of her parents. The ones who bore her put her on a doorstep and ran away. The Skywalkers-- Mara had bright red hair, she knew, but she wasn’t sure if she actually remembered it or if she’d been told so much that it felt like a memory, and Luke was always so patient. Always patient, teaching her languages and reading and writing and Scripture and history and Saints, even if he left out Saint Julian who was on his family ring--

Rey had her fourth realization: she wasn’t incapable.

_Hit with your knuckles._ _Thumb out, otherwise you’ll break it. Wrist straight, otherwise you’ll break that, too._

With the large Skywalker ring on the middle finger of her right hand, Rey threw her first punch. She aimed for Snoke’s nose and was rewarded with a satisfying  _ crunch  _ and a shower of blood spattering her light gray clothing. The old man staggered backwards, one hand pressed to his face, and grabbed blindly for the hilt of his sword. Before he could draw it, a flash of silver flitted over his gnarled hand. Her dagger, wielded by a dazed Ben, darted over Snoke’s wrist and forearm, effectively incapacitating him.

Blood fell from his arm and face, dripping onto his clothes and painting the snow a ghastly crimson. He laughed. It started as a chuckle, then grew into a bout of hysterics. He looked Rey dead in the eyes. “You think you’ve won something, girl? You think that you’re going to have an idyllic romance? You aren’t. Kylo Ren,” he boomed, loud enough for all assembled to hear, “it is time to complete your training. Carry out your mission. Do the duty God has given you.”

Ben was crying, wracking sobs shaking his body, snot running from his nose, as he took Snoke’s sword. “I’m sorry,” he said, gasping. “I’m sorry, Rey. Please forgive me.”

“I love you,” she replied, backing away. “Benjamin, I love you. This isn’t your fault.” She was crying too, silent tears and desperate sniffles. As Ben drew closer, sword raised, she realized she wasn’t spouting platitudes. It wasn’t his fault, and she did love him. “It’s Snoke’s fault. You aren’t to blame and we all love you.”

“Rey,” he said again, broken, almost upon her, “Aurelia,” he grunted, as if it pained him, as if to get a point across, “Please…  _ forgive me _ .”

_ Lord Snoke knows how to make me forget, but he doesn’t let me choose what. I think he uses words. A certain word makes me his pet, another word makes me forget, another word makes me normal, and so on. He always tells me that I’m alone and that no one will ever love me. He’s the only person who will ever have a use for me. But you said ‘Benjamin, I love you’, and now I can see you playing on the beach with your hair tied in knots while my father and mother laugh. _

“I forgive you!” she shouted. “I forgive you, Ben.”

He stabbed. The sword went through skin and guts and viscera. He took it out and stabbed again, again, again. He screamed while he did so, unintelligible things. He was still crying, gasping for air, but long after the corpse was dead, he kept stabbing.

Amilyn tried to hold her back, but Rey approached Ben cautiously. She avoided looking at what was once a man on the street and in the snow. “He’s gone, Ben,” she said quietly. She put a trembling hand on his back. He flinched.

“He’s not. Luke always says--” He gazed up at her from his seated position. “You’re bloody. I’m sorry. I’m so,  _ so-- _ ”

“There’ll be time for that later,” Marquise Holdo said. “Right now, you need to get in that cathedral and claim sanctuary. Guards are headed this way.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Claiming sanctuary was (and still is!) A Thing. The rules varied by country. England was like, "You get 40 days, bro." Other places just let.it.go.on. The Hague will still offer sanctuary; they held Mass for almost 100 hours in order to keep someone safe a few years back.
> 
> So many thanks to the Reylo fam in the Anthology Discord for helping me figure out what sort of brainwashing technique to use! Mod Mneme gets a special mention for "like Captain America" lol Y'all are amazing.
> 
> Hoo boy, let me tell you, it's effing hard to find blueprints/design drawings from the 14th century XD I grew up in the construction industry, so I'm yelling at my screen like "OKAY BUT WHERE DID THE LIMESTONE COME FROM, AND WHAT KIND OF OAK? WHAT ARE THE DIMENSIONS OF THIS ONE THING THAT HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH THE PLOT?" Additionally, the stuff you *do* find is all about England. This ain't set in England, freund. 
> 
> One of the biggest criticisms that <s>my perfect daughter</s> Rose gets is that she's too nice and doesn't want to get her hands dirty. A) what movie did you watch, and B) kindness isn't a flaw (also, fuck you neckbeards, girl didn't have TIME to free every slave on Canto Bight, just because she was able to set loose the fathiers doesn't make her pro-slavery and why aren't you saying the same things about Finn?? /rant). I wanted to make sure that not everyone in this web was on board the murder train, and Rose is the perfect person for that job. <3 Hope she has a MUCH larger role in TRoS than the trailers make it seem...
> 
> Next time: Awkward weddings are awkward and Rey is awkward and Ben is awkward and everything is all wrapped up!
> 
> Please leave a contribution in the little box! Reylo reviews are like candy :D


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternate Title: Anidala vibes but Rey is both of them  
Alternate Alternate Title: Author has difficulty writing porn with this man when he isn't a villain because her only nephew is a toddler named Ben <s>though I taught him to do an evil laugh before he was one and gave him the name "Destructor" and now he blames messes on Destructor. I CREATED A SUPERVILLAIN I'M THE BEST AUNT</s>  
Alternate Alternate Alternate Title: Jesus H Christ it's finally done, I only started it in 2016 O.O
> 
> Many ongoing thanks to the fabulous [Reylo Fanfiction Anthology](https://reylofanfictionanthology.tumblr.com) and its community, without which this would never have been finished.
> 
> cw: mention of a miscarriage. Very brief, a little bit of dialogue after the "party" scene.

When Saint Thomas Becket was slain in Canterbury Cathedral, his murderers could not claim sanctuary because they had defiled God’s house. _Will no one rid me of this turbulent priest?_ King Henry had said that on a long-ago Christmas, and four loyal knights interpreted it as an order to subdue Becket, an order to be carried out on pain of death. Saint Thomas was martyred and Henry II cast a villain. Whether he wanted the Archbishop dead was a matter of debate, but the intent didn’t ultimately matter. Saint Thomas’s head was severed from his body and his brains were kicked about the cathedral by a cleric.

_ Who will rid me of this turbulent priest? _ Rey had been thinking of ways to neutralize Hux and Snoke for months. Maz and Benjamin (or perhaps it was Kylo Ren) did the terrible deeds in the end. The whole family had wanted those men out of the way, and now they were. Their very own turbulent enemy was gone, and Rey didn’t know what to do.

“Amilyn, what are they going to do to him?” she whispered one frigid night just before Epiphany. 

“Exile, most likely.” The Marquise took a long drink of red wine. “Lucky he was outside. He’d have been excommunicated for sure if he’d killed someone inside a church.”

“Exile to where?”

“They can kick him out of France. Maz’s little birds are twittering about some combat-based penance fighting the Serbians. Depending on his devotion to reconciliation and his circumstances, I think it will be exile.”

“Circumstances?” Rey asked.

The Marquise sighed and shrugged. “Family, for one. If he had children, that would certainly work in his favor. He has openly supported the new Pope, which would have done him some good if Snoke and  _ monsieur le roi _ were not so open in their own support. Luke is a liability, with his being loyal to the true Pope. Leia is too smart to have openly declared an allegiance, but the Italian states have gone to Urban.” She shrugged again, this time with only one shoulder, and pierced Rey with her gaze.

“Family,” Rey repeated. She tried to find the moon behind the clouds outside the window.

======

Ben and Rey underwent the Sacrament of Matrimony on a frigid February morning in the side chapel of the Notre Dame. Rey wore a dark blue kirtle with a rounded neckline and the Vicomte de Connix loaned Ben a pair of blue hose. There were no rings. Both parties spoke their words blandly. Their witnesses-- the Marquise, the Connixes, old Maz Kanata, and Rose Tico, smiled more than the couple. The priest had seen such displays before; marriages of convenience and alliance were often unhappy.

“I’m sorry,” Rey said to Ben after they thanked the priest. “I never thought to bring my  _ cassone _ . I never dreamed-- What is it?”

“Is that really why you’re so melancholy?” He reached for her hand but changed his mind halfway through the gesture. 

“Not entirely,” she admitted, looking at the floor. “I wanted a proper Italian wedding, you know? With handshakes and a magistrate and family. I like these people well enough, but it’s not the same as Uncle Han getting drunk and blaspheming in front of Papa.”

Ben tried to fight a smile. “Or Mother trying to water down his beer. That’s-- that’s a real memory, isn’t it?”

Rey nodded and laced their fingers. “It is. And he would always catch her.” She brought his knuckles to her chapped lips. “Don’t be afraid. Ask anything. I’m your wife.” She gulped. “I’m here to help you.”

“You’re not, though,” he huffed. “My wife, I mean. The ceremony was only half of it. The Church won’t consider it a legitimate marriage until we… do the other part.” He was red as a tomato and avoided looking at her.

“And we’re in a church,” Rey said evenly.

“And we’re in a church,” Ben agreed.

“Maybe we can use that to your advantage.”

======

Rey had always known what would be expected of her as a wife. Papa told her the spiritual side. Leia told her the practical side. Han made crass jokes. She had not been prepared for the emotional toll it would take on her, and so quickly. She wrote an impassioned letter to Bishop d’Orgemont, begging for Benjamin to be released so that they could complete the Sacrament. She quoted Thomas Aquinas and used Pope Clement’s name. She waited on tenterhooks to hear back.

Because though she wanted Benjamin free, she did not want to consummate their marriage. It was easier to support him from afar than to support his weight in a bed.  _ Just lay back and let your husband put a child in you, as God intends _ was suddenly very frightening. With a large husband, it couldn’t be so simple. She would be crushed.  _ It might hurt the first time, dear, but it gets easier. It can even be enjoyable. Listen to each other and learn what you like. _ Even that sounded like dressing up something ugly. Words like “might” and “can” gave her no succor.  _ Once you push out a son, you can do whatever you like, Aquinas be damned! _ Han’s blasphemies were oddly the most comforting remembrances. Saint Thomas Aquinas was wrong about husbands and wives? If there was ever a time for a saint to be wrong, Rey hoped this was it.

======

She was spending her nights with the Connixes and her days with Benjamin. In the first week of March, she received a letter.

_ My dear Rey, _

_ I understand congratulations are in order. I no longer know whether to call you ‘niece’ or ‘daughter’. I do wish I had been there. We’ll have to celebrate ourselves, when the time comes. It will be such a feast! _

_ It’s odd to think that we sent away a girl and now you are a woman. We can no longer tell you “do this” and “do that”. My son may try, but he was always a tender-hearted boy. If any but our web had relayed what he did, I wouldn’t have believed it. But you are his wife now. I can say that marriage means one thing or another, or that you ought to behave a certain way, but that wouldn’t be fair to the pair of you. No couple is the same, and my son has been ill in the heart for a long time. Treat each other well and you will make each other stronger. _

_ I was often asked by the other gentry why I promised my only son to you instead of some noble girl. I always told them the same lie, “to consolidate our family’s property” and make sure Ben got what was Luke’s. Han and I knew early on that we didn’t want Ben to marry for wealth. Mara found you, a tiny thing no more than four, sitting in the corner of a sickhouse. When she asked what you were doing, you told her that your mummy and daddy were gone, but you still wanted to help. Then you threw up on her. She and Luke brought you home and you were so kind. Ben was an angry young man, and I knew he would need a natural sweetness to temper him. Han and I decided very quickly that it would be you.  _

_ Already you have been an extraordinary wife. I’m supposed to wish you a fruitful marriage and many children, but they will come or they won’t. I wish you and Ben joy. More importantly, I wish you peace. God grant you serenity. _

_ Yours. _

_ Leia _

======

Legend held that Julius Caesar had been betrayed and murdered on the Ides of March. It was an all-around day of bad luck, a time for meetings  _ sub rosa _ and machinations of the powerful against their foes. It was therefore no comfort to Rey that Ben was released on the fifteenth of March. There were very strict rules about sanctuary. Once he was outside of the cathedral, he could be stabbed or shot. He himself, having been in God’s house, would have no weapon to defend himself. Vicomte William de Connix escorted Rey to the Notre Dame, followed by a few trusted knights. Among them was Sir Dameron. She nearly cried out his name but bit her tongue behind her smile. Sir Dameron meant an escort. Sir Dameron meant home.

“All right, my lady?” he asked, his plate armor glinting in the late-winter sun. A breeze ruffled his hair, which he tossed roguishly. 

“I think I will be,” Rey said. “It’s exile, just as the Marquise predicted. I’ve had enough of France, frankly, and will be glad to have it behind me. And you? Are you glad to be returning to Genoa?”

“I’m not headed that way,” he said, shifting uncomfortably. “I’m off to Castile. My mother is ill. It’s just you and your husband, all the way home. Lucky man.” He smiled and winked. 

Rey looked at her feet. “Your company will be missed. I’ll pray for your mother, and of course for you. We all will.”

The cathedral doors opened and everyone turned to stare. The Vicomte’s men surged forward, a wall of ring and plate, to surround and shield Benjamin. For his part, Ben held his head high ( _ a fine target for an archer! _ Rey thought) and silently made his way back to the Connix home, the one silent figure in a sea of noise.

======

The journey from France to Genoa began.

The horses nickered, and their hooves clacked on paving stones or squelched in mud. Their riders were quiet. The lady, who now wore a veil because she was a matron, kept her eyes down. The gentleman stared forward, ever alert. Secret sidelong glances were quick, and somehow never caught. There was very little talking.

The first time they stopped at an inn, Ben nearly forgot himself and asked for two rooms. Rey slid her hand into his and he blushed furiously. They were both trembling when the door closed behind them, when they saw the lumpy mattress and all of its implications before them. Rey pulled the pins out of her veil; Ben shuddered.

She swallowed thickly, like she was drinking sand, and looked into his eyes. “I’ve never done this before,” she said. “I was waiting for you. I don’t know what to do. You need to teach me what you like.”

“Not just me,” he replied in a rush. “You, too. I want you to feel good. It doesn’t have to be about-- just-- only for children. It can be… I’m babbling. But do you know what I mean?”

Rey inclined her head, though she decidedly did  _ not  _ know what he meant. She sat in the dank room’s one rickety chair and ran a brush through her long hair. Ben kneeled at her feet and removed her shoes. He looked at her questioningly as he put a hand on her ankle; she nodded. His fingers didn’t touch her legs at all as they untied the strips of cloth that kept her hose in place. As he gently pulled them off, she realized that she had dropped her hairbrush. 

“I don’t know how to undo all of yours,” Rey said. “The metal parts are too confusing.” When he began working at the various ties, buckles, and belts that kept his clothes and armor in place, she raised a hand. “Teach me,” she insisted. He worked the fastenings; she untied the knots with fingers that slipped more than once. The ringmail fell from him, a waterfall of chain that landed with a resounding  _ thud _ . 

Finally they were a man and a woman in plain clothes, staring at one another, neither breathing nor moving. 

Rey suspected that Ben had lain with a woman before. She had an echo of a memory of General Hux’s voice ( _ positive reinforcement-- a good fuck _ ). Ben had known how to take off her hose without fumbling.  _ Yes _ , she thought,  _ he has been with at least one woman _ . She thought she ought to be offended, hurt in some way, but she was relieved. At least one of them knew what they were doing. Maybe that would make the whole affair more like Leia had described it: finding out what the other person liked and possibly even enjoying it. She became distantly aware that Ben was talking.

“What?”

He took her hand, and she let him. One of them was shaking very badly, or maybe both of them were shaking a little. “I said, please don’t be afraid of me.”

“I’m not!” she insisted.

“You look terrified.”

“But not of  _ you _ ,” Rey said. “Of all of it. The… tonight. I don’t know how. People give advice, but it’s ultimately useless. And I’m afraid of the future. I don’t know how to be a wife and mother or run an estate. I think everybody forgets that I didn’t grow up around women and other children. I mostly traveled with Papa. Staying at Falcon House was like a waking dream. And these people give me advice like they know me. They don’t know me.”

“I know you,” Ben said simply. Rey scoffed. “I do. Maybe we didn’t know one another in Genoa. Maybe I don’t remember everything yet. But I know you. You’re the woman who saved me, body and soul, and you risked your own life to do it. Even when you had reason to suspect I was beyond saving, beyond redeeming, you did it anyway. That determination and selflessness can’t be taught. That’s not Uncle Luke or God, that’s all Rey. I’ve seen you, the real you, under pressure. So yes, I know you.”

Rey sniffled. “You haven’t seen any of the bad yet. I have a temper.”

“There you go again, being honest. What a wretched wife I have.”

She shook her head and laughed. Looking at their joined hands, she posed a shy question. “Will you kiss me? The way it’s supposed to be done?” He hesitated. “I’m going to be afraid no matter what. We could wait ten years and I’d still be afraid. Only, please…”

“I know,” he said. “I’ll be gentle.”

And he was. The first touch of his lips to hers was soft, sweet-- not unlike their chaste first kiss in the Palais. She mimicked his motions, opening her mouth just a little. She surprised herself when her breath caught in a tiny sound at the back of her throat. He put his hands on her waist; she put her hands on his. Kissing was okay, she thought. It wasn’t worth writing poems about, but it was nice. When his tongue pressed against hers in a slow sweeping motion, she changed her mind. She fisted her hands in the fabric of his tunic and shoved her own tongue into his mouth.

He pulled back, hiding a chuckle. “It’s not a fight. Slow down.” She nodded.

Kissing with tongues, Rey thought, was amazing. It made her all warm and sort of heavy in the abdomen, achy in a strange but good way. She liked exploring Ben’s mouth, feeling the smoothness of his teeth and the softness of the inside of his jaw. Another strange feeling began at her abdomen, above the other one. It was good. Everything was good. She could kiss forever.

Ben’s hand brushed her breast and she froze. She took a step away. It occurred to her that her lips were a little sore. She clenched her teeth and nodded, then sat on the bed. She reached behind her and fumbled with the laces up the back of her kirtle. The topmost knot was tucked in well and she couldn’t reach it. She clawed at her back frantically and didn’t realize she was crying until he wiped her tears and hushed her. He was apologizing, and that was wrong because she should be apologizing. She should just lay back and let him put a baby in her, like St. Thomas Aquinas taught. She shouldn’t be overthinking or feeling; she should be doing her duty. This was her husband. This was Ben, who she loved in a way. She could even see herself being in love with him one day, courtly love, the stuff of stories. She had already traveled through the Inferno for him, though in that simile he was Beatrice and that didn’t make much sense at all--

“Now you’re babbling,” Ben said softly. Rey touched her lips again; she hadn’t realized that she’d been speaking aloud. “Would it help at all if we just looked at one another first?”

“Maybe,” she replied. “Isn’t that inappropriate?”

He shrugged and shook his head. “The rules about marriage and lovemaking were written by men who were never married. I think it’s something you figure out as you go along.” 

“Lovemaking,” she parroted. “That’s a very odd word.”

“Why?”

She stood, gathered her hair over one shoulder, and presented her back to him so he could undo her laces. “It makes it sound nice, like a tender expression of affection rather than what it is.”

His hands hovered at the knots on her kirtle. “And what is it?”

“Duty, of course.”

He sighed, and his hot breath hit the curve of her neck and shoulder pleasantly. “Just because we’re expected to do something doesn’t mean it can’t be enjoyable. Fun, even.”

“For men, maybe,” Rey replied. “You’re supposed to be undoing my laces.”

She felt her kirtle get looser and held her arms out so he could lift it off her, but he hesitated. “For women, too,” he said. “Will you let me show you?”

She nodded. He helped her out of her kirtle.

She stood in a linen smock that fell to her knees. She looked down at her bare toes and hugged herself, letting her hair fall over her face. She saw his clothes land at her feet. She whispered, “Three, two, one!” and looked up. Her jaw fell open the tiniest fraction.

Ben wasn’t wearing a shirt. The heavy feeling in Rey’s abdomen returned. The scars and cuts and burns were still there, but mostly his muscles captivated her. Bulging arms that could protect her, a strong chest, a well defined abdomen with a tiny trail of dark hair leading from his belly button into his breeches… She followed the trail downward and saw a bulge; this was the other thing she had felt, the unusual thing pressing against her. Rey squeezed her thighs together.

“Kiss me again?” she asked. “I promise I won’t run away if you touch me.”

He smiled, but when she tilted her face up, he didn’t meet her lips. He guided her to the bed and sat her on the very edge of it. He took the hem of her smock in hand and met her confused eyes, asking a silent question. Rey blinked quickly and nodded. He gently pushed her so that she was reclining and he was kneeling before her, a sinner about to atone. He gingerly arranged her legs on either side of him, and soon her knees were draped over his shoulders.

Rey wasn’t sure what was happening, but she knew this was not how babies were made. She also knew that his ragged breathing, hitting the inside of her thighs, was making her shake. The heat and pressure were back, and she was in exquisite agony. This was a sin; it had to be, even with one’s husband. But she couldn’t wait to see what he did next. He blew a stream of air onto her center and her hips jerked.

When his tongue started its exploration, when he had to hold her hips down, she uttered the first curse words of her life. When his finger slid into her while his thumb tickled a little spot no one had told her about, she gasped. When he added a second finger and crooked them, she fisted the bedclothes and writhed while her vision swam white and her body felt like it was being tossed about the sea.

“Good?” Ben asked her, grinning. Boneless and witless, she could only manage a weak  _ uh-huh _ .

He laid beside her, almost too big for the mattress, and curled an arm around her. Rey pressed a kiss to his sweaty chest. The salty taste was strangely pleasant, so she added more kisses. Inevitably her lips found his. Inevitably her smock rode up. Inevitably he asked if he could make love to her.

She surprised herself when she said yes with less fear and more anticipation.

Their underthings found their way to the floor. Ben marveled at her breasts, how they fit in his hands, how Rey’s back arched when he so much as ghosted a touch over a nipple. Rey was curious about his cock. She asked a half dozen questions ( _ How does it grow so much? Why does it change color? Does it hurt you? _ ) before Ben hushed her.

When he entered her, it burned. Her eyebrows knit together. “It stretches to accommodate a baby. You’d think it would be fine for this.”

“It gets easier. Better,” he said, hitching one of her legs around his waist. 

“That’s what I’ve heard.” He moved gently. Her sharp intake of breath was accompanied by the tiniest of smiles, so he repeated the motion. One of her hands drew his head to hers so she could kiss him. The other left fingernail marks in his back with every thrust. It was languid, not at all what she had imagined. Lovemaking could very well be an apt term. She smiled at him.

Something in his demeanor changed. He started thrusting harder and faster, and Rey panicked. She couldn’t keep up. He put a hand between them and touched  _ that spot _ again and she was cresting on a wave, but he was out of her, spilling his seed into his palm and onto the floor.

Rey was a proper wife now, and suddenly very shy. She covered herself to the neck with itchy blankets as she watched her potential for children hit dingy floorboards. Wide-eyed, she watched with curiosity how Ben’s cock changed moment to moment. The color, shape, and size were all fascinating to her. She wondered if she ought to put her mouth on it as a return gesture. He would have to teach her what to do, of course.

“It’s nothing you did,” Ben said, catching her stare.

“Huh?”

“I just-- until I remember everything, or mostly everything, I don’t think it’s fair of me to make a child. You were wonderful. Beautiful. And you expressed uncertainty about parenthood. We’ll wait until we’re both ready. That way, our whole family will be happier. If what I recall about my parents is true, they’ll support that.”

Rey felt that maybe she already loved him properly a little.

======

Finn was the first to see them coming down the road. He hollered and waved, and Rey ran to him. He caught her in his arms and spun her around until they were both dizzy and laughing. The veil and its pins flew from her head, but she didn’t care. This was Italy. This was Genoa. This was home. She was free here.

Over the course of nearly a year, Finn had changed visibly. His posture was much improved and he had ink stains on his fingers. He wore a wooden crucifix identical to hers. He stood a little taller, like he could scold couriers for insolence. Rey smiled at him fondly.

“You’ve changed,” she said.

“And you,” he replied, embracing her again.

A heavy hand landed on Rey’s shoulder. “Oh, of course!” she exclaimed. “Finn, this is my husband, Benjamin Solo. Ben, this is my brother, Finn.”

Rey took her place beside Ben. “Your brother? But he’s--”

“Moorish?” Rey finished, overwhelmed with déjà vu. “What was it I said last summer, Finn?” 

Finn smiled. “Water is wet, the sky is blue, and he is my brother.”

“Papa took Finn in, too. He’s very dear to me.” 

Ben wasn’t smiling. He tried to sound sincere when he said, “Then you are dear to me, too.”

======

Han and Leia had prepared a grand feast for Ben’s arrival. All of his favorite dishes and then some were served-- chicken with almond sauce, roast goose stuffed with fruit, vegetables pottage, pasta, and all varieties of custards and tarts. After the meal, some nuptial festivities commenced.

Han carried Rey’s  _ cassone  _ into the hall for everyone to see. They didn’t look inside, though some tried. The painted box itself was admired, its bright colors still vibrant and shining after so many years. One side bore the Skywalker crest. The other had a boy with a stag, a reference Rey had not understood when she painted it. She thanked people who complimented her on it and politely rebuked people who made reference to its contents.  _ Trousseau. Baby clothes _ . “It will happen when God wants it to.”

Rey put a ring on Ben’s finger, and he on hers, before many guests. Friends, family, and inebriated vassals cheered for the couple. Luke and Han shook hands and a magistrate signed a formal contract. This was the wedding Rey had wanted. When the rowdier members of the crowd began crowd began clamoring for  _ Nozze _ , a public consummation, Ben’s temper turned. 

It was Han who intervened. “They’ve been married for months,” he declared. “They just never had a good celebration. Let’s all enjoy the festivities without getting a view up the kid’s skirt.”

Ben and Rey retired not long after. They had a proper home now at Falcon House, with a large, comfortable bed. Rey nuzzled against Ben’s chest. His muscles were taut, and his hold on her was tight. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Doesn’t it bother you?” he asked. “People constantly asking if we’re expecting? They were scrutinizing you all night, looking at your waist and breasts and face to see if there was any extra weight.”

“I imagine the men both congratulated you and offered their condolences, yes?” Rey asked, smiling a little.

He paused. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“It’s just what’s expected,” she said. “A woman gets married and has children.”

“Well,  _ you  _ don’t have to. Not unless you want to.” 

She furrowed her brow and raised herself up on one elbow. Looking down, she saw that his lips were in a thin line and his jaw was set. “What’s this about, Ben?”

“Finn,” he said. “When Finn twirled you around, I remembered something. Father did that to Mother once. She was going to have another baby. They were talking about names and Mother collapsed. There was blood everywhere. The physician said she was lucky to be alive, but the babies didn’t make it. The physician took them out while she lay there dying. I would have had a brother and sister.”

“And you’re afraid our baby will die,” Rey deduced.

“I’m afraid you’ll die! I don’t know that tiny person. I don’t love it. Women die on the birthing bed all the time, Rey.”

“I’m not afraid to die.” She put her fingers on Ben’s lips to keep him from interrupting. “I feel like I’ve been dying a little each day since we found each other in Paris. More so since we left. Because I love you, Ben. The right way-- the way I’ve wanted to since the beginning. And maybe you don’t love me, and that’s fine. But you should know that I love you and any child I have by you would be a blessing.”

He gazed at her as if she were the moon. “I have dreamed of you saying those words more times than I can count. Not the dying bit, obviously,” he said, “but the part about you loving me. I’ve loved you since-- since-- God’s nails, since you told me not to laugh because I reminded you of someone.”

“That long?” Rey asked. “How?”

“Because that’s when you decided to help me. No one had been kind to me at all since I left home, and there you were, telling me I was loved and missed and worth something. And even when I turned into--  _ him--  _ you came looking for me. The memory of your face and your words kept me grounded. Say it again, please.”

“I love you. Truly and deeply.” She kissed him, a sweet, slow thing meant to show affection.

It wasn’t enough for him. He covered her, touched her, licked her, thoroughly  fucked  her, and finished inside her.

======

Han, Leia, and Luke all had to be apprised of the words that set Ben back and helped him move forward.

“We worked out some of it,” Rey explained. “Mostly it was accidental. I doubt we’ll ever know the full extent of what they did to him.

“Avoid the word mission, the term ‘holy endeavor’, and the name they gave him. As often as you can, but without seeming conspicuous, say ‘I love you, Benjamin’. Not ‘Ben’, ‘Benjamin’. The phrase that really seems to snap him out of it is ‘I forgive you’.”

“What’s he done that needs forgiving?” Han asked, shifting in his seat.

“It doesn’t matter,” Rey said. “He’s gone to Confession many times, wore a hair shirt longer than necessary, and has nightmares. No one else need know.”

“Christ,” Han muttered. Luke crossed himself.

“My poor boy,” Leia lamented. “Thank you, Rey. Thank you for everything. For going there, for finding Ben, for bringing him home, and for loving him.”

Rey smiled. 

======

She cornered Leia that evening in her solar. 

“We need to talk,” she said, lips pursed.

“Is something the matter?” Leia asked.

“Extremely,” Rey said. “You sent me to a foreign country with minimal resources and the name of one ally despite having many trustworthy friends in the area. I don’t know how much Amilyn told you, but I was very nearly exposed. If I had been found by the wrong person, my understanding is that my tongue would have been cut out and I’d have been thrown in the prison tower, never to be seen again. Letters in your handwriting were used to convince me of a person’s allegiance, but what if they had been stolen? And you sent me a ring with instructions to murder someone when my goal had always been information gathering. I was going to do it, too. You had convinced me to commit the ultimate sin. All I needed were a few names and things would have been so much easier. You could have said to trust Maz and Amilyn as well as the Connixes. Instead I had to figure that out on my own, another stressor to my time there. I had to pretend to be someone else and change all of my mannerisms. You said you were sending me in part for my safety, but I was nearly killed more than once. It wasn’t fair to me or to Ben.”

Leia stared at her. “Are you finished?” Rey nodded. “You’re not wrong. We didn’t prepare you enough. Han and I sent letters telling the others to expect and trust you. We-- okay,  _ I _ \-- thought too much information would be a problem. No one knows everything. It’s the only way to keep a plan safe in case someone is compromised. What if you William Connix was captured and tortured? So you see, it’s important to cast a web.”

“I understand the strategy. Amilyn explained your web and Maz talked about her little birds. But I’m family. If you can’t trust family, who can you trust?”

Leia took Rey’s hand and smiled. “You can’t trust your family either.”

Rey thought for a moment that she must be talking about Anakin Skywalker, who perhaps inadvertently killed his wife. Then she heard echoes of Maz’s words, of Ben’s, about her father and decided to stop thinking.

“Obviously,” Rey said quietly, deliberately. Pain blossomed across Leia’s face.

“We’ll try, then,” Leia said, pulling out a handkerchief. “You and I, we’ll be better. I’ll answer every question you have about anything fully and honestly.”

Rey nodded. “Then I’ll do the same.”

======

  
  


It was late spring, but there was a chill in the air. The crops weren’t doing well. People weren’t hungry, but they would be come fall. Han anticipated riots. They were enjoying the peace while it lasted. 

“Knight to F6,” Ben said.

“Knight to F3.” Rey sighed. “These are my favorite days, you know. Just sitting with you.”

“Losing to me at chess? Queen to H6.”

She kicked him under the table. “I’ll beat you one of these days. Maybe today. Pawn to D3.”

He laughed. “The student will never become the teacher. Knight to H5. Take some time, love. Think about it.”

“Don’t need to. Knight to H4. I practiced while you were abroad.”

_ Abroad _ . That was the term they had decided to use. Kidnapped was more apt, perhaps, but traumatizing.  _ Abroad  _ implied away with intent to come home, and he had. They played in silence for a while. 

“Pawn takes Bishop. I think you’re overconfident.”

“Maybe I’m luring you into a clever trap. Pawn to H4.”

“Queen to G6.”

Rey tsk’d. “Risky. Did you know that I was playing chess when I got the letter from Papa that led me to you?”

“Were you?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Well… sort of. I was trying to teach Finn. We were on the beach. I drew a board in the sand and found all sorts of things to use as pieces. Bishop to D6.”

“How could you tell the difference in debris? Queen takes Bishop. Check. Still confident?”

“More than ever.” She slid her foot up the inside of his leg. “And you underestimate my creativity. I found a vast array of sticks and pebbles and shells. King to E2.”

“But how could you tell the difference once you started playing? Bishop takes Tower.”

Rey scoffed. “You sound like Finn. Anyway, we didn’t get to play because I started thinking of you and got angry and destroyed the board. Pawn to E5.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I think I was talking about the war, too. Then I got the letter.”

“No, I meant that’s really the move you’re going to make? Too late, Knight to A6.”

“Says the man who has only developed his Queen.” A few more quiet moments passed, the only sounds being the crackling of the low fire and the clicking of chess pieces. “What do I get when I win? I think I want you to read to me. Queen to F6. Check.”

“When? Oh no. Knight takes Queen. I’m going to win. What shall I claim as my prize, I wonder? You have no Towers, only one Bishop, and… that damn pawn at E5. God’s nails, you’re sneaky.”

She grinned. “Bishop to E7. Checkmate. What was that about the student never becoming the master? I think my boon shall be you reading to me and calling me ‘master’. No, ‘mistress’!”

Ben stood and gracefully bowed, holding out a hand to her. She took it and giggled. He kissed her knuckles. “What will I be reading to you this evening, Mistress?”

“Chaucer,” Rey declared. “The Franklin’s Tale.”

======

They were Ben’s favorite days, too. He would sit in a comfortable chair, Rey’s head on his lap, and hold a book in one hand while the other stroked her hair. She would close her eyes and just listen, almost make her heart beat in time with his cadence.

She pulled him onto a settee. Candlelight glinted off of his wedding band and the Skywalker ring on his little finger. Rey climbed entirely into his lap and shoved  The Canterbury Tales at him. He kissed her forehead and let his free hand drift over her. He read to her of Aurelius, who was so in love with Dorigen that he gave all of his money to a magic man to fulfill her wish of having all the sharp rocks removed from Brittany’s coast in return for her hand. Aurelius, who didn’t know Dorigen was married and wanted the rocks gone so her husband’s ship couldn’t crash onto them. Aurelius, who, when offered Dorigen by her husband because bargains are meant to be kept, declared their contract void because he didn’t want to come between a loving couple. Aurelius, whose noble deed erased the debt he owed the magic man.

“‘My truest lady’, said this woeful man, ‘Whom most I dread and love-- as best I can-- Last in the world of those I would displease, Had I not suffered many miseries For love of you, so many I repeat That I am like to perish at your feet, I would not dare approach you, or go on To tell you how forlorn and woebegone I am for you; but I must speak or die’.” Ben smiled at Rey. “He’s a bit dramatic.”

Rey swatted at him. “It’s sweet. His love is so innocent.”

“Then why does he dread her?”

“I don’t want an academic discussion, Ben,” she sighed. “I just want to listen to you read poetry while you hold me. Good?”

He picked up where he had left off. Rey’s eyes closed, and for a time he thought she might be asleep. He watched the gentle rise and fall of her chest as he finished the poem. He ran a long finger down her nose and across her lips.

“I love you, Benjamin,” she murmured, somewhere between dreaming and waking.

“I love you, Rey.” He leaned in close, his breath tickling her ear. “I don’t dread you, and my love isn’t innocent, but I love you all the same.”

She smiled in her sleep. Ben carried her to their room and laid her on their bed. He curled up next to her. His Aurelia dulled the sharp edges. His Aurelia had brought him home. Hers was an innocent love, pure but tempered, certainly not unwise. Rey Skywalker was all grown up.

“You’re a gift, Rey Solo; a benediction. You’re everything. I have no more to say; my tale is done.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I do this thing where I like to make all of the chapters around the same length. For this fic, the word count per chapter was 3500. Then Ch5 happened and the fic just started laughing at me. 
> 
> Fun Facts before I list my sources!  
Blue was the preferred wedding color, if you could get it. Why? *shrug*   
Italian weddings were waaaaay different than those in the rest of Europe. Despite being the seat of the Papacy (mostly), Italians preferred civil marriages. _Nozze_ was a thing and fam u messed up if you want to watch your relatives have sex.   
I like smashing tropes. I wanted to break the "it's too big, how will it fit in me?" trope, so I did. I hope you enjoyed reading that particular line as much as I enjoyed writing it. 
> 
> It was always going to end with chess and Chaucer ;) Ben's last line is the last line of "The Franklin's Tale". Super nerds may have recognized the Immortal Game. [Here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y09oewoCQjg) is my favorite animatic of it (Dragon Age flavored with a hint of Solavellan hell... good times).  
My go-to sources for this fic were the Encyclopedia Britannica, Brown University online, the Luttrell Psalter, The Forme of Cury, and some YouTube videos that I naturally followed up on. The videos I watched were:  
[Modern History: The Knight, Part 16: Food](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ertx8fZiuxA&t=612s)  
[Dressing in late 14th century armor](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zGl_UXc9HIE&t=5s)   
[Getting dressed in the 14th century](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ibj7GsfsCpI)  
Also, "Growing Up Catholic" and "Reading Papal Edicts in Latin" are good primary source material XD I have a long and complicated relationship with Latin. One could say... odi et amo? I'm sitting here doing finger guns like a moron at that terrible joke. Somebody put me out of my misery... like Lesbia's bird. I need to stop.
> 
> Anywho, I hope you enjoyed the ride! Please leave a contribution in the little box. I'd love to know what y'all thought.  
Until next time <3


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